The Power And The Passion
by Velocity Girl1980
Summary: Final part of my Anne Boleyn trilogy. Anne is left as Regent while Henry fights the French. With danger coming from all quarters, and love in the air for Lady Mary, how will things pan out? Rated T for violence and stuff!
1. Chapter One: Legacy

**Author's Note:** My apologies to those who were reading "Two Worlds Collide," but the writer's block I developed with that story saw it stretching off into all sorts of meandering directions. Hopefully this, the re-write of the final part of my AU Anne Boleyn trilogy, will be much more streamlined, focussed and faster-paced. Another change is the addition of Hans Holbein for the introduction. He was still alive in the show, right at the end, so I figured I'd get away with using him, too.

**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters, events, history, or the TV show. Please read, review, and hopefully enjoy this story. Thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter One: The Tudor Legacy (Introduction).<strong>

1544.

A broad morning light spilled through the windows of Queen Anne's Privy Chamber, and bounced off the bent head of Hans Holbein the Younger, as he hunkered down, spare brush clamped in his firm set jaw, behind the huge canvass. The scene was a bizarre one, at first sight. Queen Anne herself sat up on the dais, beside an empty throne. Her arm was held aloft, as though resting on the arm of an invisible man who occupied the throne beside her's. Twelve years on from the event, she had been poured back in to her old coronation robes; a task made easier by the fact that she was pregnant when she first wore them, and so easily fit her still. She was adorned, dripping in the jewels of the Queens of England. The crown set firmly open her head. So many gems catching and splintering the light, twinkling emerald and ruby in the bright autumnal sun. In her free hand, was the orb. The sceptre was going to be held by the invisible Henry at her side, who would be painted in later on.

On her other side, the ten year old Prince Wales, Arthur, sat. He remained stock still. Around his narrow shoulders, there was draped the scarlet velvet robes, all trimmed with ermine. A small, but ornate coronet sat comfortably over his blonde curls. He kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, just as Holbein had instructed him. One small hand rested on the arm of his mother's throne. The other gripped a miniature sceptre, a symbol of his future Kingship.

Sat at their feet, dressed in full ducal robes and coronet, was Anne and Henry's youngest son, Prince William, Duke of York. Just over a year younger than Arthur, he was restless and fidgety as the artist did his work. Anne herself couldn't blame the child. She was dying up there, and her arm hovering in mid-air felt as though it had developed rigor mortis. "Serenity" Holbein had urged her. "Serenity, Your Majesty. You are the Queen, and that it was what I will capture." Now, after three hours of posing, she wanted to shove his serenity where the sun wasn't shining.

Occasionally, Anne would sneak a quick glance from the corner of her eye, to the column beside which Princess Elizabeth stood poised and dignified. She was twelve years old, and every inch the Tudor Princess. Her long satin and silk gown hung from her shoulders, accentuating her waist, and her long, slender body as it pooled elegantly at her feet. The plaits of the train had been painstakingly arranged by her Governess, Kat Ashley. It was Elizabeth who had been in her belly when Anne last wore these robes. The sudden realisation set her eyes welling with tears of sentimentality, and she silently chided herself. But as she grew older, Anne knew she just couldn't help the pangs of sadness as her children grew, and took their first baby steps away from her.

At the opposite end of the dais, stood Lady Mary. She wore a gown and jewels that were identical to Elizabeth's. They stood like statues. Their hands folded neatly before them. Patiently waiting for their ordeal to be over. The sunlight made their skin glow like porcelain, and their blue eyes twinkle like sapphires. Anne expected every last detail of it to be captured in oil on canvass.

Finally, there were two further empty points marked out on the dais for the artist's later attention. King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York would be painted in, standing hand in hand, behind their son, King Henry VIII. For this was a family portrait. The Tudor family. The dynasty, and the legacy. The power, and the prestige. The past, the present, and the future would be captured, and immortalised in this one painting. She hoped that Henry would like it.

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><p>"Where are you taking me?" Henry asked as Anne steered him down the gallery towards her Privy Chamber. "I know when you are up to something, madam."<p>

Anne looked back up at him, and pressed her lips together in a thin pale line. A gesture of teasing silence. She gripped his arm tighter, and couldn't prevent a burst of mischievous laughter erupting from her throat. With his free hand, Henry leaned on a walking cane, taking the pressure off his diseased leg. He had injured himself badly in a jousting accident, and it had not been treated properly at the time. That same day, all those years ago, Prince Arthur had been abducted, and all their energies went on finding him, and to hell with a crushed leg. He paid the price now, though, and willingly.

"Very well," Henry sighed as they finally reached the Queen's private apartments. "I'll just have to wait and see."

"That you will," She chided, giving him a playful smack on the arm, like a child trying to sneak a look at his new year's gifts.

The Chamberlain ushered them inside with a bow. As they entered, Anne could see that already, the whole Privy Council had already assembled for the big unveiling. Wriothesley, Rich, Gardiner, and even the Seymour brothers, who had both earned places back at Court following the Pilgrimage of Grace. Anne had even given her permission to one of her dear friends, Lady Catherine Parr, to marry Sir Thomas Seymour.

"Husband," Anne whispered low and intimate into Henry's ear. Even though he now stooped, Anne still had to stand on tip toe to reach his ear. "Husband, are well enough for such a large audience?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" He waved away her concerns as they both acknowledged the deep bows that welcomed them to the Chambers. "Good afternoon to you all," Henry addressed them at large. "Now will someone tell me what is going on?"

Some Grooms stepped forwards to assist Henry into his seat up on the dais, and got him settled. A footstool was procured for his bad leg, and drinks were poured. Fine, warmed wine with spices, just as Henry liked it.

"We're just waiting for some last minute guests," Anne explained, her eyes twinkling excitedly as she beamed over at Henry from the throne on his right.

Henry was about to enquire further, when his question was answered by the arrival of Prince Arthur and Lady Mary. He threw open his arms to welcome them both with tears in his eye.

"There is more," Anne whispered as Princess Elizabeth and Prince William joined their brother, sister, and parents up on the dais to the sound of rapturous applause from the assembled Councillors.

"Oh good heavens!" Henry exclaimed as he looked up at all his children who now gathered around him. He wanted to bear hug them all. To squeeze them all tight to himself. But for his damn leg, he would. It didn't stop the pride bursting his heart, though. He cupped their faces, and showered them with kisses. His children. His pride and joy. Meanwhile, the Councillors fell into an impatient silence.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Henry asked.

"Because then it would not have been a surprise," Anne couldn't help but laugh. At length, she continued. "Well, when Mary and Arthur last visited a few months ago, it wasn't entirely a pleasure visit. They came to help out with your present. And, so did William, and Elizabeth."

"A present! What present?" Henry's eyes widened as he looked around at the beaming faces of his children, who all hopped excitedly from one foot to the other, choking on joyful laughter.

"Children!" Anne clapped her hands and gestured for them to take their seats that had been arranged up on the dais. Arthur took precedence over his siblings, but the rest were equal in height. "This present, Henry," Anne added once they had all settled down. She gestured to the Chamberlain at the back of the room, who then ducked behind the double doors, and out into the gallery. When he returned, he was followed by three grooms, who all helped carry in a huge canvass draped in velvet. Hans Holbein, with a look of barely controlled panic on his face, came trotting after them with an easel and frame under his arm.

Holbein bowed low to the Royal Family, and set up his frame so the portrait could be balanced on it. He turned to King Henry, and spoke confidently.

"Her Majesty the Queen has commissioned this gift for you, Your Majesty." He whipped off the velvet cover with a flourish, and then stood back to let the King see the finished work.

Henry leaned forwards in his seat so his failing eyes could properly make out the painted figures. His mouth ran dry, and his heart beat raced in his chest. Puffing slightly, he hauled himself to his feet, again.

"Father, let me help," Arthur jumped up to assist the King, joined by Queen Anne.

"Do you like it, Henry?" Anne asked as she drank in the finished product. It was immaculate, in her view.

"Like it!" Henry repeated, his voice was awestruck. "It is magnificent."

The children all jumped up, and pointed themselves out to Henry in an excited babble.

"There I am, Papa!" They all called out, and pointed to their spot on the canvass. Elizabeth and Mary by the ornate Roman-esque columns, and the Princes on the dais, beside the King and Queen.

"Look Henry," Anne said gently. "There is your father, and there is your mother."

"Family," Henry whispered, his voice was hoarse with tears. He wrapped his arms around them all as best he could. For the first time in his life, all of his family were under one roof, and in one room. "My family." He choked, and leaned over to kiss Anne firmly on the cheek.

They moved back to the dais to enjoy their drinks and picnic foods, while the Councillors all filed past Holbein's latest masterpiece. Anne watched them all, happy that life had settled again. There had been little trouble since the Pilgrimage of Grace, but since the grand progress of five years ago, even the troubled north had finally been settled, and not a murmur of discontent had been heard from there since.

But, as she looked from the faces of the sharp eyed young Councillors, to the ageing King, she knew that a struggle was around the corner. She knew that it would take more than a beautiful work of art to remind some of them of who was in control around here. She knew that soon, they would have another fight on their hands.


	2. The Madness Of King Henry

**Author's Note:** I own none of the characters, history, or the TV show. Please read and review, thank you.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Madness Of King Henry. <strong>

Together they sat among the tumbling autumn leaves, breathing the crisp, clean air of Greenwich Palace deep into their lungs. The children ran, kicking at the undergrowth with the little dogs snapping at their heels. Lady Mary looked on with an expression of ill-concealed panic on her face as she tried to rein in Prince Arthur. King Henry laughed as he watched the Prince evade his older half-sister once more. Their voices were muffled by the distance, but they could been seen, and so long as they were in sight, Queen Anne, sat beside Henry, was satisfied of their safety.

"There was something I was meant to tell you," Henry said as he squeezed Anne's body closer to his own. Anne snaps her gaze away from the children, and back towards Henry, her brow creased into a deep frown. She'd heard that note in his voice a hundred times, and more. She thought that she would be used to it by now, but her first reaction was always to brace herself, like donning armour, for whatever was coming.

"What, my love?" She replied, affecting an air of casual curiosity.

"The Council and I have decided that the time has come for another French campaign," He explained. The tightness in his voice indicated there was more to come. "Boulogne. A strategic town, a town we need."

"Are we at war with the French?" She asked. Her expression softened, and she let her cheek rest against his broad chest, so she could listen to the rhythmic thump of his heart. She relished the feel of a whiskery kiss planted on her forehead.

"Just a siege, my love," He explained in that tone of voice that implied to her that he was keeping things back. But, then he hit her with it. Sudden, like ripping off a wound dressing, getting the shock of the sting over and done with. "I shall be leading the troops myself."

"Henry, no!" Anne sprung to her feet so swiftly that her cloak slipped from her shoulders, and her hair was knocked out of it's bindings. Rarely, these days, did she say no to the King. "This is madness, Henry. You're too..." The words caught in her throat. She loved him. She would ever do anything for him. But, she couldn't bring herself to say 'you're too old, and you're too ill, and you're too over weight'. Henry closed his eyes and turned his face away, as though he'd read her mind, and second guessed what she was thinking. It was, after all, what everyone else had implied when he told them.

"Just one more campaign," He implored her. "One more go at the French. One more chance at glory."

"You don't start wars just to relive your youth!" She countered fiercely. "You could be killed!" Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought of the possibilities. It was all very well him living in a big trench as a young man. But now, he had needs.

"Or, I could recapture the glory of Agincourt," Henry stood up, and placed his hands gently on her shoulders, tugging her cloak back up, and fixing it back in place. "This is final, Anne. We are to war with France, and we will win. You shall remain here with the children, and as Queen Regnant, until I return with the keys to Boulogne, especially for you."

He chucked her under the chin, and leaned in for a kiss to dry the tears that glittered on her face. She looked at him, fixing him in her deep, sapphire gaze. She wanted to rant and rave, and forbid him to go. To lock him in the cellars of the Palace. In the end, she could not bring herself to say anything, leaving the course open for him.

"Do not deny me your blessings, Anne," He implored her. "This is my last chance. You can't deny me my last chance."

"Just, be safe," She finally said. The sound of her own voice was alien to her. Like something from far away as she swallowed the fear, and the uncertainty that now swelled inside of her. But, when she looked at him, and saw that look in his eyes, and read the fears that crowded his mind, she could not find it in her heart to try and stop him. It was an unacknowledged fact that Henry's time was limited. This was his last chance to mean something, and to earn his place in the hall of the warrior Kings of England. The Henry V's, and the Edward III's. It was his last chance to live his boyhood dreams of capturing fresh French territory.

"I will think of you always," He assured her as he folded her into an embrace and rested her face against his shoulder. "All my victories will be for you."

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><p>John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, fussed over the candelabra, determined to wring as much light from the flickering candles as he could. He cursed the darkening autumn skies to the heavens. Behind him, Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, put his muddy booted feet up on the Duke's good, wax polished table. The Duke affected not to notice, and hid his rancour beneath a veneer of bonhomie.<p>

"The King's gone barking mad, if you ask me," The Duke remarks to the Marquis, who has now taken to sliding his hunting knife in and out of it's sheaf. It's clear what the Marquis would rather be doing. "Going off to war and leaving the Country in the hands of the Queen. I don't know which is worse, him getting himself shot in a trench in Boulogne, or her sending us all off to hell in a donkey cart, here in England!"

While he vents, he drags the candelabra over to the centre of his cavernous chambers, trying to coax the flames into chasing the shadows away. And failing. He gives up, and takes a seat at the head of the table, and eyes the Marquis's muddy boots, still propped up on the shining tabletop, with a flicker of annoyance.

"I suppose the King will be expecting us to come with him," The Marquis sighed deeply. It wasn't that he didn't want to. But, it was his wife, Frances Brandon. She was demanding. Then there were the daughters. Jane, the eldest, was of an age. She needed him at home. Not massaging an ageing King's God complex off in France.

"No," Northumberland stated flatly. "The Queen's Cousin, the Earl of Surrey, he is a military man. He can go. And Suffolk, and Norfolk. We can stay behind and offer our services to the Queen. For heaven's sake, Henry. What do you think the chances are that the King is going to make it back from France?"

Henry Grey heaved a bark of dry, mirthless laughter. That answered the question sufficiently enough for the Duke. John leaned forwards, elbows on the table, and hands in a steeple, which he seemed to contemplate rather thoughtfully.

"Let's just say the King does get himself killed in France," He finally spoke. His voice distant, the treason tumbling from his lips like the leaves from the trees. "Because, if the French don't get him, his heart, or his leg, or his anger will. So, he is dead already, in our minds. What then?"

Henry dropped the knife on to the table and finally removed his feet to the floor. His expression turned suddenly serious.

"How old is Prince Arthur, now?" He asked, rhetorically. "Ten? Another child on the throne, with herself in control. It will be a disaster for the country."

"My thoughts exactly," The Duke replied. "So, with the King dead, and Arthur as Anne's puppet King, the whole country goes to rack and ruin, while we sit by and do nothing?"

"What can we do?"

"There are alternatives."

"Lady Mary?"

"A Catholic? Heaven's no! I think you should look a little closer to home."

Henry Grey sat back in his chair, and regarded the Duke carefully. They were both well acquainted with the line of succession. They carried the royal family tree around in their minds. Every branch and root, stored away safely in the coils of their brains. The Marquis smiled.

"Are you offering to make my wife the Queen of England?" He asked, fixing the Duke in a captive frown. He tried to make it sound as though he were asking about the weather, with a forced casualness.

"It can be done," Dudley insists. "Your grandmother was a Queen, wasn't she? Your wife's mother was a Queen, and the current King of England's sister. You're both fit for the job. You're both adults. You're both liked by the people."

Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset. Only son of Thomas Grey, who in turn was the eldest son of Queen Elizabeth Woodville. From her first marriage Sir Anthony Grey of Groby. Dudley was stretching a point, there. But Frances Grey, daughter of Mary, Dowager Queen of France, and Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, was another matter entirely. There was genuine royal pedigree, there. And not the ancient, half-pedigree that he had, acquired almost by accident after his grandmother caught the eye of a licentious King, a long, long time ago.

"What do you want in return?" Henry asked the Duke, finally cutting to the chase.

"Your daughter, Jane, to be formally contracted, and married, to my son, Guildford," He answered in a voice that was calm, and measured.

Henry chided himself for not guessing. It should have been obvious. Northumberland makes he and Frances King and Queen of England, and he returns the favour by making Northumberland's son a future King of England. Jane would be their next in line, and they won't be having any sons to supersede her any time soon. Frances had been left barren following the tortuous birth of their youngest daughter, Mary. Poor Mary, with her crooked back, and bandy legged posture. Still, if their plans go well, that little cripple could be a Princess. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of it.

"Very well then," Henry Grey eventually replied. "I shall talk to Frances. See what she says. But, you can count me in."

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><p>Queen Anne sat alone with Princess Elizabeth in her Privy Chambers. She looked over at the Princess, now nearly thirteen years old, and remembered the time the French refused to agree to her marriage to the Duke of Angoulême's son. Illegitimate, according to the French. Like those licentious dogs were in any position to judge the legitimacy of a Royal Princess! Anne admired Elizabeth's rich auburn hair, and her cream, flawless skin. Her poise, and her quiet dignity. Everything a Princess should be.<p>

"What are you reading, sweet heart?" Anne asked.

Elizabeth looked up from her book, and a small smile lit up her face.

"Savonarola's, The Triumph Of The Cross," She answered. "Papa gave it to me as a present. Your friend Lady Catherine Seymour translated it especially for us."

Anne nodded her approval. "That's right," She answered. Yes, she thought to herself. Nearly thirteen, and reading Savonarola. Learning Greek, too. "Are you enjoying it?"

"Very much so."

"Good girl," Anne praised her, smiling as she turned back to her needlework, leaving Elizabeth to her book. She found herself hoping that Henry would storm the whole France. Sure, they were as good as allies, once. But, when she had been without a son, and Henry's eye was wandering far and wide among her ladies. When people spoke of her being "set aside". Where the French then? All she saw was the backs of their heads as they all turned away from her. It was time she repaid the compliment.


	3. A Moment Of Greater Tenderness

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I really appreciate it. By way of disclaimer, I just want to state that I own none of the characters, events or the TV show, thank you again. Please read and review!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: A Moment of Greater Tenderness.<strong>

In the days leading up to his departure for France, King Henry found himself fussing about the Council Chamber with Queen Anne in tow. Showing her where everything she would need as Queen Regent was kept. She already knew. He knew that she already knew. But he needed to be certain, and wanted to avoid spending the day long boat journey fretting over the silliest things, when he should be focussing on the war effort. So, while he still had the chance, he found himself stumping around the Chamber, while Anne sat poised at the head of the table. He emptied drawers and cupboards. Pulled out seals and found himself blowing the thick layers of dust off old law books that had lain, obscured from view, for God only knew how long.

"Henry," Anne stated firmly, on the evening before his departure. She reached out and touched his

elbow. "Henry, those old books have not been needed in what looks like centuries. So, I don't think they'll be needed in the next few months, either."

He thought on what she said for just a moment, before nodding and lowering himself in easy stages into the chair opposite hers. She smiled at him, tried to be reassuring, and reached across the narrow table to take his hands in hers. She wanted him to know that she was not daunted, and therefore neither should he be.

"I know where everything is, and I will not be alone," She added in a gentle tone, holding him in an unwavering gaze.

"Well, actually, there is one more thing," He said quietly as he withdrew his hand from hers, and rummaged deep in the pocket of his doublet. He produced a scroll of parchment, sealed with the Royal insignia embossed in crimson wax. The Privy Seal itself. "This is my last will and testament. If I die in France, all my instructions are clearly laid out."

He rolled the scroll across the surface of the table in her direction, and she raised a finger to catch it in it's tracks. She looked down at the innocent parchment as thought it were some omen, an ominous sign of impending doom. She wanted to laugh it off, and to say something dismissive, like: 'It won't come to that, you silly old fool!' But she cannot. She finds that she cannot really say anything. Henry reaches across the table this time, and it is his turn to sound reassuring and raise a wan smile to his lips.

"It has been approved by Parliament, so you needn't worry about a thing," He explained. "You will keep all your jewels, and your lands and titles, except Queen, of course. But, you will be the Queen Mother. You will have Baynard's Castle, and an annuity of two thousand pounds a year, in addition to everything else. Arthur will be King. His Council is appointed. If I do die, and I have no intention of doing so, you will be cared for. You can retire, and be free to marry again."

Anne's heart gave a painful jolt against her ribcage, and her gaze jerked upwards form the will, to her husband's face.

"Henry! Never-"

"Shh!" He cut her off, pressing a finger to his lips. "I don't want to hear about it. But know that you are free to do so. Say nothing." He implored her.

The look on her face conveyed her feelings perfectly. She thought that she had been in love with someone once, before she met Henry. But those feelings she had were nothing compared to the feelings that the King aroused in her. She could not articulate their attraction. But it ran deeper than anything she had ever had before. It was magnetic. It was chemical. She thought that the emotions would settle as soon as they were married, and they did to some small extent. But that hold they had on each other was as strong as ever. They argued and fought with a passion that was equal to their love. Life without Henry was not something she contemplated. Life without Henry, and in the arms of someone who was not Henry was something even more anathema to her.

"I won't let you down, Henry," She answered him at length. She looked at him, with his tired eyes, and the deepening wrinkles that marked the passage of time on his face. "The Duke of Northumberland is staying behind, as well as the Marquis of Dorset; and Stephen Gardiner." She said the last man's name with ill concealed loathing. A tone of voice not lost on Henry.

"He is well grounded in canon law, Anne. He will be invaluable to you," Henry tried to reason with her.

"After everything he has done, Henry," She countered. "He made you put to death your most faithful servant-"

"I know!" He cut her off firmly. The memory of Cromwell's fall, just over four years previously, still sent a shudder of regret and remorse shimmying through his stomach. But he, Henry, had signed the death warrant. He couldn't deny that, even if he would never say it out loud. It wasn't entirely Gardiner's fault that he had been led astray. "He is meddlesome, I know. But keep him close, Anne." Henry fixed her with a rather calculating look, as though he were attempting to transmit some deeper meaning. "Keep him very close to yourself, and to Cranmer. Perhaps the two of you can tame the Bishop of Winchester?"

"Very well," Anne averted her gaze to the dusty bookshelves that lined every spare inch of the Chamber walls. She decided to leave the talk of Gardiner still in it's innuendo stages, and so changed the subject. "The Seymour's, Richard Rich, Wriothesley, Surrey, Norfolk and Suffolk are all going with you?"

"Yes."

It wasn't all bad news for Anne, then. Some of the other pestilential nobility would be stuck in the French mud, while she ruled as Queen in her own right.

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><p>"Lady Mary." Stephen Gardiner swept a low bow as he entered Mary's Chambers at Greenwich. Mary closed the book she was reading with a snap and got to her feet smiling. Her ladies, including Frances Brandon, her cousin, swarmed around her as she did so.<p>

"Your Grace," She greeted him formally, as Bishop of Winchester, first. "I was hoping to see you before the Prince and I leave for Ludlow again."

"Indeed, my lady, there is much to discuss."

Mary gestured for the Bishop to enter her chamber, and ordered her ladies to pull up a seat for him, and then leave. Whatever they needed to talk about, Mary had no doubt that it was best done in private. As the servants poured the warmed, spiced wine, Mary sat patiently, arranging her skirts so that they sat neatly about her. Despite the warmth of the fire, the occasional draught still swept these rooms, and she found herself swathed in heavy furs, anyway. So cumbersome to arrange!

"My Lady, I know that this must be a worrisome time for you, so I shall not detain you long," He sounded apologetic, and waited for the last of the Ladies to vacate the chamber before he continued: "You must be deeply worried for the safety of your father. He sets sail tomorrow, after all."

"Naturally, we all fear for his majesty's safety," Mary answered after a thoughtful pause, during which she seemed to contemplate the underside of her gnawed at finger nails. "I find it baffling that Anne has allowed him to do this. It is insanity! At his age, and with his delicate health."

"No doubt she relishes the prospect of being Queen regent," Gardiner answered drily. "Practise before she takes up the role full time once his majesty is called home to the saints, no doubt."

Mary made a choking sound from deep within her throat. A sound of distaste. "God forbid that should ever happen."

Gardiner poured them both some wine from a silver decanter, and was relieved to find it still warm. He handed a goblet to Mary, and took a deep sip of his own to wet his lips. "Do you know, my lady, it doesn't necessarily have to be so," he ventured.

Mary held him in a curious gaze, with her hand poised half way between the table and her mouth, gripping her goblet tight. She mulled it over in her mind.

"You mean, we can easily replace Anne as Regent, if my father dies in France?" She asked, careful to keep her voice low. Gardiner's face split into a smile.

"I think you misunderstand me, Lady Mary," He said. "It doesn't even have to come to that. We can, if we play our cards right, circumvent the current line of succession, altogether."

"The Holy Father never declared Anne's marriage to my father as valid," Mary was thinking aloud. Thinking aloud the thoughts that had been in her head, ever since her mother had died. "If their marriage is unlawful in the eyes of the Holy Father, who is God's true representative on earth, then the children are illegitimate, and not one of them fit to rule."

"Yet, the King's marriage to your blessed mother, Queen Catherine, has been upheld as both valid, and lawful, by two different Holy Father's now," Gardiner explained. "Return this realm to the proper order, banish the heretics, and you will find a lot of friends within the Parliament."

Mary sat back, the goblet of wine still untouched, in her hands. She was torn, but she knew that the Bishop was right. Friends within the Parliament, Gardiner had said to her. Since the fall of Cromwell, many of his henchmen were scattered, too. Meaning Catholics, and adherents of the Holy Mother Church were now back in favourable positions with the structures of power. This could be done legally. No blood. No uprising. Just laws, and a return to the true faith.

"I want a husband, my lord Bishop," Mary stood up, setting the goblet firmly on the small table beside her fireside seat. "I want a husband, and children. I desire nothing more from this mortal life-"

"But your duty to the faith of Christ!" Gardiner didn't even attempt to hide the note of irritation in his voice. He, too, rose to his feet so that they could be level with each other still."Remember why your mother fought so hard against your father's divorce suite? Because she was his true Queen, and you were his true heir."

The words hit Mary like a physical slap in the face. She reached back, far back into the depths of her childhood, to a time when her world had been torn asunder by the arrival of a great whore in her father's life. Anne Boleyn. Mary's heart beat raced, jolting painfully, as if it had risen into her throat.

"I know what my mother, the Queen, did," She tried to defend herself from the guilt that seemed to tumble down on her. But, her voice was tremulous. She was losing the battle. "The last thing I want is to dishonour her memory-"

"Then do this for her!" The Bishop urged. He could see, however, that he had unnerved her. He had pushed her into a corner, and now she was struggling to get free again. He took a deep, cleansing breath, and paused while he relaxed, and calmed his excited nerves. "Lady Mary, let us pray together, and ask God for guidance."

That did the trick. Mary's shoulders slumped as all the tension drained from her body, and the tears that had been welling in her eyes soon evaporated. She raised a weak smile, and gestured the Bishop through to a small, discreet room that was obscured by a tapestry. Inside was an altar with a crucifix that had been rescued from a dissolved Abbey, and statues of saints that had been salvaged from similar sites. It was her secret shrine, where she prayed daily for forgiveness for signing her father's act of supremacy.

* * *

><p>The morning came, crisp and clear. The sun shone, distant in the sky, so no warmth came from it's thin rays. Anne found herself out in the Palace gardens early. The children were all lined up, in order of age. Only Mary was not in the line, because she was at Anne's side, helping to arrange their household staff to give the King and his men a fitting send off.<p>

"Elizabeth, give that book to Kat," Anne instructed her daughter who'd produced a book from who knows where, and was slumped against the wall, her nose buried deep in the cream, vellum pages. Typical, for her, but irritating for Anne on today of all days. Anne and Kat Ashley exchanged knowing looks as Elizabeth sheepishly handed the tome over.

"William, stand up straight, your father will be here any minute," Anne now turned her attention to her youngest son. She dabbed a kerchief with the tip of her tongue to wet it, before rubbing a dirty smudge from the boy's nose. "What have you been doing, child!" She moaned as he writhed from under her grip.

Prince Arthur cast his brother a deeply withering look before turning to face the Palace gardens, again. Clearly, he was listening out for the sound of the hooves of the horses that would be conveying the men to Dover.

"Mama, he's coming!" Arthur chirruped, pointing in the direction of the source of the noise. His eyes glittered with excitement as the Royal Standards, borne by Knights in full armour from atop huge war horses, came sailing into view. "Oh! Look Mama! I'm going to do this too, one day. When I am King!" He bounced up and down on the balls of his heels, to keep the retinue in his line of vision as it grew closer.

Mary stopped what she was doing and turned to look sharply at her younger brother. But the look of joy on his face stilled the mild scolding that was on the tip of her tongue. Besides, her previous night's encounter with Stephen Gardiner was hardly the boy's fault, and it was that which vexed her, as well as her father's departure. However, she did speak cautiously to him.

"War is not an excuse to show off your armour and horses, Arthur."

Anne heard her from where she was still tending Prince William. "He is just a boy, Mary!" She groaned. The woman could be so serious at times. "He just wants to emulate his father, and there is no harm in that."

Mary bit back the retort that was on her lips. The Queen may see it fit to squabble in public, in front of the whole household, but she would not condescend to it. Instead, she gave a curt nod and turned to watch her father ride into view at the head of his men. Hundreds of mounted Knights and men at arms, all in armour. Standards held proudly aloft as the foot men marched in time to the beating of a drum. Immediately, rapturous applause broke out from the assembled crowds.

"Good people!" Henry called out to them all, his voice carrying easily in the still, clear air. "Today, we take the first step towards reclaiming our ancient birthright. Today, we begin a new crusade to take back what was stolen from us, all those centuries ago, when the crown of France was denied my ancestor, Edward III. Two hundred years on, it is high time to put that right and teach the D'Valois a lesson in humility!"

Henry paused to soak up the adulation of his audience, and gestured for Queen Anne and Prince Arthur to step forwards. As soon as the Prince was close enough, Henry leaned down and scooped the boy up off his feet, and perched him in the saddle so that everyone could see him. The boy's face was a picture of euphoria, and Anne would have given anything to have Hans Holbein here now, just to capture that look in the child's eyes. Then, with his free hand, Henry reached down, and held Anne's aloft.

"I leave my good wife, your Queen, as regent while I am gone. All shall obey her, as she now acts for me, on my behalf. I assure you, you will want for nothing while I am gone." Anne flushed with pride, and Henry continued with his departing speech. "So, in the name of Queen Anne, Prince Arthur, and Saint George, I urge my army onwards to victory!"

The roar of the crowds was deafening now. Anne looked up into the face of her husband, and she could finally see it. The sick old man melted away, leaving the Henry of the golden age in it's place. Something in the way he held the people in the palm of his hand. Something in the glow of pride as he held his eldest son. Something in the way that he was so assured of victory, and the justice of his cause. He was still a great man, and it would take more than an old injury to diminish that golden Prince of yesteryear.

Finally, Anne and Henry had some moments alone, before he finally departed. They held each other with greater a tenderness than usual. They kissed each other with a greater love than usual. Finally, they used their final moments to say their good byes.

"Do you remember, Henry?" Anne said. "When we last did this, before you rode north to deal with the rebels?"

"Don't think about that now," He implored her as he held her against his armoured chest.

"But I do," She choked back the tears. "I do. But, promise to stay safe, and I freely give you my blessing, as a wife to her husband."

"I promise."

They kissed one final time, safely out of sight of the others in a small alcove set against the Palace walls. The moment of separation came with great regret on both sides. One final lingering look, and Anne turned to walk back inside. She dried the tears that welled in her eye, and did not look back.


	4. Boulogne Or Bust

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. Your input is greatly appreciated. I own none of the characters, the TV show, or the historical context. Thanks for reading, and please read and review!

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: Boulogne Or Bust.<strong>

Frances Brandon leaned out of the window of the litter, and watched as her country seat, Bradgate House, slid into view at the end of twisting, beaten earth track. It's vivid, red brick, walls sprawled out along the lip of the hill, overlooking the vast acreage of richly stocked park lands. Herds of deer, wild boar, and pheasants all made their homes among the trees and the undergrowth. They foraged for food, and grew fat; blissfully ignorant of the impending hunting season. Although Bradgate was a castle, it was a pleasure home, and therefore, not fortified. The grounds and parks swept right up to the Castle.

As soon as she was close enough to home to see in through the windows, she withdrew back into the litter, and gathered her belongings that seemed to have scattered themselves over the seat and floor during the long journey from London. As the litter drew level with the entrance, it drew to a halt as a footman appeared to help her down with a bow.

She swept through the main entrance in a blur of cloaks, skirts and furs, into the Great Hall where the servants lined up to greet their mistress as she returned from Court. She cast an appraising eye over them all as they bowed, or curtsied in deference. Finally, Frances found who she was really looking for. Three children, identically dressed girls, curtsey low. Jane, the eldest, followed by Katherine, with the youngest, Mary, at the end. Her awkward legs, and crooked back, made it difficult for her to curtsey, and she looked like she had frozen mid faint. But, God help anyone who mocked her for it. God help anyone who dared to suggest that Mary had been cursed by God for some unknown evil, and given her handicaps as penance. They faced the wrath of Frances Brandon, if they did.

"Mary," She beckoned to the youngest child first, knowing the discomfort she would be in. "Jane, and Katherine." She beamed at the three of them as the rose to face her. Like three Russian dolls. Each the miniature of the other. Each with thick auburn hair, and bright blue eyes. They looked like their grandmother, Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France. Three young Tudor beauties.

"My Lady Mother," They each greeted her formally, with a chaste kiss on each cheek. Their manners, drilled into them since birth, were impeccable. The girls stepped straight back into line. Not overly familiar, but not complete strangers, either. Just as young women should be, Frances noted approvingly.

Satisfied of her welcome home, Frances nodded to Mrs Ellen, the girl's Governess, for them to be returned to their Chambers, and Tutors. Jane was learning Greek, already. If Queen Anne's daughter could learn Greek, Latin and the Sciences, they so too could her daughters. For sure, Frances reasoned, her daughters were just as Royal, if not more so than Boleyn's children.

Frances nipped at the tip of her riding gloves finger, and slid them off before passing them to an open handed servant. She swept into the Solar, the doors held open by stony faced guards, as she divested herself of her riding cloak. As she entered the wide open Chamber, she spotted her husband, the Marquis of Dorset, locked in conversation with the Duke of Northumberland. She paused on the threshold, as though weighing the two men up, before approaching at a more sedate pace.

"Gentlemen," Her voice rang shrill across the Chamber, snapping them both out of their heated debate. John Dudley jumped to his feet, instantly, and swept a low bow.

"My lady Dorset," He greeted her. "Returned from Court, I see?"

Henry Grey greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek. A servant drew out a chair for Frances, while food and drinks are prepared fresh from the kitchens for the three of them. Frances waited until the last servant had placed the last silver platter of comfits on the table, and melted back into the outer galleries, before speaking to the two men, again.

"Husband," She nodded to Henry. "My lord of Northumberland," She gave a curt nod to the Duke. "I have some interesting news from Court."

Daintily, she lifted a small comfit from the platter, between thump and forefinger, and dropped it into her mouth as Henry poured the wine. Northumberland fixed her with a curious gaze. "News?" He prompted.

"News," She repeated. "Bishop Gardiner approached Lady Mary, shortly after the King left for France. He wants to form an alliance with her, against Queen Anne and Prince Arthur."

"What alliance? What do they want?" The Duke asked, his jaw slack with horror. "What do they plan to do?"

"From what I heard," Frances explained. "All the closet Papists are swarming around Lady Mary, using her mother's name to emotionally blackmail her in to cooperation, and promising to make her Queen instead of agreeing to make Arthur King. You know how easy it will be? It is a matter of dispensations!"

"She is dangerous," Henry mumbled into his goblet of wine as he sat back in his seat. His gaze was distant, looking straight through Frances now, as thought she were no more than smoke. "If she agrees to Gardiner's plan, they will have the Boleyn marriage invalidated in a trice. We will be bound, gagged, and enslaved to Rome quicker than Mary can say a catechism."

"You remember our last conversation, my lord of Dorset?" Northumberland asked thoughtfully. Henry gave a small nod of acknowledgement. "You realise that the success of our plan is now absolutely imperative. If we fail, we will be stuck with Mary as Queen, the Pope as over-lord, and we'll all be dead men walking."

"I will, of course, return to Court and continue to watch the situation," Frances explained, her gaze flitting nervously between the Duke and her husband. "But, something needs to be done about Mary, and the Princes, if our plan is to work. We cannot simply remove those boys from the line of succession by invalidating the marriage, or has that not occurred to you?"

"It had, actually!" Northumberland glared across the table, not bothering to try and hide his irritation at the implied accusation of poor planning. "Have you forgotten King Henry's affair with the Queen's sister, Mary?" He asked, and pressed on without waiting for a reply. "Well, neither has anyone else. He fathered a child by her, Henry Carey-"

"There is no proof-" Frances hotly interjected, but the Duke cut her off again.

"Who needs proof?" He laughed coldly. "The people, our people, will believe only the most convenient truths. The easiest to understand, and the most palatable."

"It's all we've got, Frances," Henry warned his wife. She shot him a disdainful look, but made no further protest. He ignored it, and turned back to the Duke. "But, for now, I wish to delay the marriage between Jane and Guildford. I want these problems with the plan smoothed out, before ant pre-contract is drawn up."

"By 'problems' you mean Mary, and the Princes?" John asked, with a knowing, lopsided grin on his face. He sighed when no answer was forthcoming from either of them, and rose to his feet. "I shall leave you both to think on things. For better or for worse, we're in this together."

* * *

><p>Anne listened to the wind blowing through the rafters of the Palace. It whistled it's wavering pitch through the cold stone passage ways, and pierced the warmth of the Royal Chambers with ice like needles. It was the only sound she could hear, despite all the children being with her, as she fixed the Royal Seal to the latest dispatch. Normally, this was Henry's evening work. But, he had been gone for days, now. Anne, as Regent, was acting on his behalf.<p>

She set down the seal, and watched the wax dry, wishing that someone would speak. If Henry were here, the children would be romping about the chambers, diving over the furniture and crawling into cupboards. It was as if Henry had taken the children's personalities with him. William drooped into a nap on his chair by the fire, his book slipping from his hands. Elizabeth glared furiously at a piece of silk she embroidered with her motto in gold thread. Sempre Eadem. Never changing. Arthur inscribed Latin under the watchful eye of his Tutor, while Mary gazed vacantly out at the darkening Palace gardens.

Anne watched Mary, who watched as the rain hammered the mullions in wind blasted pulses. She could only see the back of the girl's head, and a faint, distorted reflection in the glass. The distorted reflection gnawed at a distorted fingernail. The reflected eyes were as unfocussed and distant as their real counterparts.

With a deep breath, Anne rose to her feet and crossed the room to where Mary stood. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, keeping the draughts off her exposed skin, and placed a gentle hand on Mary's shoulder.

"I miss him, too," Anne spoke softly, and tried to smile reassuring as Mary was snapped out of her reverie.

"What?" She asked, startled by the sudden interruption to her private thoughts. Then, as it finally dawned on her as to whom Anne was referring. Her features relaxed, her shoulders sagged, and before she could control herself, Mary let herself fold against Anne's shoulder, and began to sob quietly.

Shocked, Anne caught the eye of Arthur's Tutor, and motioned for him to take the children outside so that she could speak to Mary alone.

"Lady Mary, what is it?" She asked, as Prince William's disgruntled voice could be heard receding down the outer galleries, towards their nursery. "Has something happened?" She knew that Mary would miss Henry. He was the only family She had. But it would take more than that to reduce Mary to tears.

As Anne steered Mary to a comfortable seat by the open fire, she looked into her step-daughter's pained face. The tears glittered in the firelight, her face crumpled and her body convulsed as she fought to get back in control of her emotions. All Anne could do was rub her back, and smooth back the loose strands of hair that had become plastered to her wet cheeks.

"Damnation!" Mary eventually managed to choke the word out. Anne looked back at her, nonplussed. Without the context, she couldn't begin to guess at what brought it all on.

"If it's come to damnation, we'll be needing a stiff drink."

To Anne's intense relief, Mary laughed. A sort of half-crying, half-hopeful wet laugh, as a chink of amusement filtered through the distress. She got up, and poured them both a goblet of strong Malmsey wine from a gold decanter. She held one out to Mary, who looked at it appreciatively before taking it in her trembling hands. Anne arranged herself at Mary's side, waiting until she had composed herself, before probing any further.

"So, who has been damning us now?" She asked sounding light, not unduly concerned.

"Oh! It's nothing, no one," Mary replied, still sounding hoarse from her fit of tears. "I was told by a certain someone that I would be damned for signing the act of Supremacy."

"Who?" Anne demanded, but hazarding a guess all the same. "Was it Gardiner?"

"It doesn't matter," She hiccuped as she took a fortifying gulp of wine. "I was just being silly."

Whatever she felt, Mary felt that she could hardly talk to Anne Boleyn about betraying the memory of her mother. She averted her gaze to the goblet in her hands as she sniffed away the last of her tears. Likewise, Anne had always been painfully aware of the sensitivity of the supremacy issue for Mary. So long as she had stopped crying, Anne decided to let the matter lie, and try some other means of distracting her.

"Do you know, ever since your father declared war on the French," Anne told Mary. "Your Cousin, the Emperor, has been ever so pleasant to us. The past is quite forgotten, and we're all looking for new ways to build alliances."

"Charles says the D'Valois are all scorpions," Mary laughed, finally turning to look up at Anne again. "But, what kind of alliances does he have in mind?"

"Leave it with me, Lady Mary," Anne grinned, and planted a kiss on her step-daughter's cheek. "Be of good cheer, order a new gown, and stay with us at Court; and I promise that all shall be well, and you will have no more cause to cry."

Anne had Mary snared, now. She was bursting with questions, but knew at the same time that Anne was plotting a surprise for her. She knew that she would just have to wait and see. Mary reached for the wine decanter, and topped up both of their goblets.

The walled city of Boulogne loomed large on the horizon. A scene blurred by the driving rain. Over their heads, the skies were dark and stormy. Beneath their feet, the earth was awash, and the horses hooves sank into the sucking swamps, slowing the English armies progress. Still, they slowly plodded onwards towards their destination.

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><p>King Henry rode with Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk at his left, and Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey on his right. He turned his face to the north, and thought of England as the filthy rain poured down his face. He thought of Queen Anne, alone at the helm of the Kingdom. As he turned to face the formidable walls of the town, he thought of Prince Arthur. The future.<p>

"We'll set up our camp there," Henry Howard pointed to a strategic point below the crest of a hill that gave them a bird's eye view of their target. The King followed the Earl's pointing finger, and nodded his approval.


	5. The Ambassador

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It means a lot, so thank you! By way of disclaimer, I want to state that this story is purely fictional, I don't own the characters, events, or the TV show. Thank you again for reading, and please read and review.

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: The Ambassador.<br>**

Eustace Chapuys held the summons at arm's length. As though it may explode at any second. Satisfied it was safe, he let it fall to the desk at which he sat, and smoothed it out. He squinted through his eye glass, painfully deciphering the looping scrawl of the Queen's secretary. In the silence of his chamber, a clock ticked the day away, and the afternoon's weak winter sun slanted through the windows. His mind raced ahead of itself. The Queen requested an audience. With him. About Lady Mary.

He'd had these meetings before. Many years ago, now. The Queen desperately forcing the Princess to sign the Oath of Supremacy, to acknowledge her own illegitimacy, and renounce her sainted mother, Queen Katherine. What fresh humiliation does the Queen have in store for girl, now? He wondered to himself as he reached for his walking sticks.

He groaned audibly, riling against the gout which now afflicted his ageing body, and hauled himself in stages to his feet. The Queen has called. He must go, no matter what he thinks of her. He shifted his weight onto one stick, and leaned down with one hand to gather up the summons before folding it away in the pocket of his doublet. With that, he began the mammoth journey through London, all the way up to the Palace of Whitehall.

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><p>Queen Anne double checked the fluted glasses and the arrangement of the fruit basket. Good English apples, some Spanish pomegranates, and other seasonal fruits, highly polished to gleam. All decorous. All impressive. She barked out the orders to the Grooms, who arranged platters of meat, and decanters of fine Spanish and English wines along the table. The Ambassador would want for nothing, during their meeting.<p>

At Anne's side, was Princess Elizabeth. She was dressed in her finest gown of taffeta and silk. Her hair arranged neatly into a plait beneath a French Hood. She watched as her mother flitted about the Presence Chamber, ordering the servants, and managing the whole meeting. She made it run like clock work. Finally, once everything was in place, Anne took her seat up on the dais, beside the Princess.

"You remember how to greet the Ambassador, don't you?" Anne asked. "Offer your hand for him to kiss, and you address him as 'Your Excellence,"

"I remember, mother," Elizabeth answered. Her air of unruffled calm remained in tact, no matter what. No mere first ever Ambassador's meeting was going to shake that.

"Of course, darling. Of course," Anne took a deep cleansing breath, while Elizabeth tried not to laugh at her obvious nerves.

Minutes later, and Lady Jane Rochford's face appeared between an aperture in the double doors of the Presence Chamber. She cleared her throat to catch the Queen's attention.

"His Excellency, the Imperial Ambassador, Eustace Chapuys to see you, Your Majesty," She announced as she sunk into a low curtsey.

"Show him in please, Lady Rochford," Anne instructed as Elizabeth leaned over and squeezed her hand for support.

Moments after Lady Rochford vanished again, she was replaced by the Ambassador. Anne noted how he now walked, bent almost doubled over his walking canes. His face was clouded by age and infirmity. He was once her sworn enemy. Her most fierce opponent in a Court that had been full of them. Anne and Elizabeth smiled an identical smile as the Ambassador stooped a little lower into a bow.

"Your Majesty," He addressed Queen Anne. "Your Grace," He glanced up at the Princess. He used to call her 'the little bastard', Anne remembered wryly.

"Your Excellence," Anne stepped forwards for him to kiss her hand. Swiftly followed by Elizabeth. With the formal introductions out of the way, the three of them stood in a tight circle at the head of the heavily laden table.

"What news from France, Excellence?" Anne asked. The Spanish Armies were providing the English with much needed back up on the front line. They were, for better or worse, fighting the war together.

"My master, the Emperor, is sending troops and arms," Chapuys told the Queen. "He is fighting in Paris, too. Many French territories could be taken."

As Chapuys explained the situation, Anne led the way around table, Elizabeth drifted at her side, as they helped themselves to luncheon.

"The chief reason I have asked you here," Anne began explaining once they had all got settled around the table. "Is about Lady Mary."

Anne and Elizabeth exchanged a look.

"Although I have yet to run the proposal past the King, it is high time Lady Mary was betrothed. With matters as they are, an Imperial alliance would be most beneficial to us all, don't you think?"

Chapuys almost choked on his sweetmeats. He looked at the Queen through rheumy, disbelieving eyes, his jaw almost slack. Once he had taken a second to compose himself, he arranged his expression into one of neutrality.

"The Lady Mary yearns for nothing more than to be married," He replied. "And an Imperial match would bring the Emperor great joy, and I would be happy to assist in whatever way I can, naturally."

"There are conditions, of course," Anne explained. At her side, Elizabeth hung on every word. "The prospective husband must be able to keep Lady Mary in a manner to which she is accustomed. He must have lands, wealth, and titles. No commoners, naturally. However, he must be far from any Crown. Whoever her future husband is, he must be no threat to the English Crown, Prince Arthur, or our national security."

"Naturally, the Emperor will be mindful of the delicacies of the situation, Your Majesty," Chapuys was keen to dispel Anne's reservations. "You know the Emperor has many relations who would be honoured to have Mary's hand in marriage."

"Excellent," Anne beamed. "Then, I require you to write to your master, put forward the proposal, and send us a list of who he thinks to be appropriate suitors directly to us. If any can make the journey to England to meet Lady Mary, it would also be greatly appreciated."

"We should like them to be virtuous, and of Lady Mary's age," Elizabeth gently interjected during a lapse in conversation. "Someone who would be faithful, and honest in all his dealings with us, and her."

If any such man exists, Anne thought to herself. But, she could see that Elizabeth had impressed the Ambassador. Chapuys smiled the first real smile that Anne had ever seen in him.

"Your Majesty, and Your Grace, I shall make this come to pass, if it is the last thing I ever do."

"One more thing, Excellence," Anne said before she turned her attention fully to her dinner. "Not a word to Mary. She has been down of late, and the Princess and I are arranging this as part of a surprise for her!"

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><p>"Cousin Jane is getting married, too."<p>

Elizabeth beamed up at Anne as they walked back to their privy apartments, following the meeting with Eustace Chapuys. Anne's heart jolted, but she did not let the shock register on her face, or in the tone of her voice as she probed further.

"Little Jane Grey?"

"Yes. She is marrying Lord Robert's brother, Guildford Dudley," She elaborated. "I do not know when, though."

Elizabeth and Robert Dudley shared a school room. They were as close as a brother and sister. Anne knew that the information was probably correct. "That's interesting," She replied, leaning down to kiss the top of her daughter's head before she was returned to Kat Ashley. Very interesting, she added silently. No one had asked her about this, and as a claimant to the Tudor crown, it was law that she and Henry should be consulted.

"What do you think their game is?" Lady Jane Rochford asked as Elizabeth was taken away to her own chambers. As Chief Lady to Anne, Jane accompanied the Queen everywhere.

"I don't know," Anne answered, her voice was subdued. "But, I think Lady Mary is coming under influence, too. I'm more concerned about that," She added darkly. "The pressure is causing her to crack."

"Ah," Jane sighed, a knowing smile on her face. "The real reason for that painful ingratiation with the Spanish. Get Mary neutralised before she can make a bad decision."

Anne laughed at Jane's most cynical interpretation of the situation, but didn't bother to correct her, or phrase it any differently. Instead, she and Jane joined the rest of the ladies in the Queen's private apartments, and immediately began writing a personal letter to the King.

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><p>"<em>Your Gracious Majesty,<em>

_I heartily recommend me unto you, and pray that this letter finds your grace in good health and spirits._

_I send this letter to reassure you of all our continued good health. But words cannot express the depth with which we feel your absence. The children daily ask for you, and news of your progress against the old enemy, in the hope of good news, and of your impending return. Although I attend to matters of state most assiduously, I cannot compensate the people for the absence of you, their King. _

_However, there is one matter in which I have been able to move on, is the matter of our new Imperial alliance. I have engaged in meetings with the Imperial Ambassador, and requested details of potential suitors for Lady Mary. Of course, we await your majesty's final endorsement, before proceeding further. _

_Also, for the furthering of your French campaign, I will shortly send the Duke of Northumberland with a company of men at arms to you. I am sure you could do with the extra men, for the speedy capture of Boulogne. _

_No more to you now for lack of time, my love. But, I sign off in the hope that soon you shall be back in home and heart's for the rest of our days._

_Anne the Queen."_

Henry read the letter again, shielding it carefully from the driving rain that fell from the skies. All around him, his generals ran like headless chickens between the companies of soldiers. Orders were barked out. Men lined up, with their guns trained on the walls of the town. Preparations for the first frontal assault on the fortified town was well under way.

The trenches stretched like a warren, all through the countryside that surrounded Boulogne. The place awash with English soldiers. Soon, the Emperor's troops would be arriving to provide the back up.

Henry shivered, and huddled deep into his ermine cloak as he retreated back into the marquee that was acting as their head quarters. The letter from the Queen pressed close to his heart. His daughter, married at last. He had stalled until this point. He had hesitated over several suitors, several potential alliances.

"Queen Anne is sending a company of men, led by John Dudley," Henry informed the Duke of Suffolk, who happened to be passing. "Make sure he gets here."

"Majesty," Charles bowed, acknowledged the command, and vanished out into the fray of the assault.

Still inside the Marquee, was Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford. An Earldom awarded in recognition of Seymour's efforts against the Pilgrimage of Grace, in 1536. Henry seated himself at the table, blocking the sounds of the cannons from his mind.

"Lord Hertford, how many of our men have we lost today?"

"Forty, Your Majesty," Came the stiff reply. Hertford had opposed the campaign. Henry resolved to send him back to England, as soon as John Dudley arrived.

"All killed by the French?" He asked, arching a quizzical brow at the Earl.

"Aye."

They had gained no ground, and advanced no further than when they had arrived. Anne's words slipped through his mind again. The prospect of an Imperial alliance more enticing than ever.

"Hertford, I want you to return to England and assist Queen Anne with marriage negotiations for Lady Mary," He explained to the Earl. Mary's happiness was one thing. Mary's happiness at the expense of the French was something even better. Seymour's face split into a grin. If he'd had his way, this whole situation would have been resolved through diplomacy.

Henry sat back in his seat as the cannons rent the air again. The shot smashed into the fortified walls. Brick crumbled, and the shouts of the enemy could be heard in the distance, in the lull of the fire, before the assault began again. Through it all, beneath the machinations and diplomacy, Henry couldn't help but think it was time for grandchildren. Even King's are human.


	6. The Rock and the Hard Place

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Your input means a lot. By way of disclaimer, I'd like to re-iterate that I own none of the characters, events, or the TV show. Thank you again for reading, and I hope everyone enjoys the story. Reviews most welcome, thank you.

Also, I dare say that this will be my final update before the party begins. So, I'd like to wish you all a merry Christmas, and a prosperous new year.

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: The Rock and the Hard Place. <strong>

The autumnal weather closed in around Windsor Castle, steadily intensifying into winter as the winds picked up, and the frosts carpeted the grounds. The whole of London shivered and glittered in the light of the distant sun. The populace huddled together in damp little groups. Normality continued apace in the face of the big freeze.

Deep within Windsor, Queen Anne dropped the letter she had in her hands, and tightened the shawls around her narrow shoulders. The walls of her Privy Apartments were hung with tapestries that didn't quite smother the draughts. The hearths were lit with fires who's warmth didn't quite manage to keep to blunt the bite of winter.

Opposite Queen Anne, Lady Jane Parker sat nursing a goblet of warm, spiced wine. She relished the spread of the warmth through her hands, and desperately urged it on to the rest of her body. Windsor, Anne decided, had been a mistake. Richmond was warmer. The old King Henry, her Henry's father, had installed water pipes in Richmond. Water pipes that led from a furnace that heated the water. Hot water almost on demand was a luxury that the inhabitants of Windsor could only dream of.

The two women looked out over the Palace grounds. Anne smiled at the children who dared each other to venture out across the surface of the frozen fish ponds. Other adults looked on in fascinated horror as they went, slipping and sliding, to the centre of the ice. With a sigh for her own long gone reckless youth, Anne turned her attention back to the matter at hand. Before her, were three stacks of letters. She had them organised in categories of 'definitely', 'maybe', and 'definitely not'. The letters were from Emperor Charles V, who'd responded to Anne's request for suitors for Mary with aplomb. Who knew he had so many eligible bachelors among his brood?

"Ivan of Prussia," Jane stated from across the table as she held aloft a miniature portrait of a man with an abnormally large chin. The sitters piggy little eyes glared out from beneath a mop of badly cut, iron grey hair. He was sixty if he was a day. At least the artist was honest about it.

"I think not," Anne sighed. Jane duly dropped him into the 'definitely not' pile and sat back with a groan of despair.

As one, they spread out the 'maybe' pile. Their distant, unfocussed eyes slid across the cover letters and miniatures like the ice skaters outside slid across the surface of the frozen waters.

"One more, Your Majesty," Nan Saville's voice piped up from the door way as she entered, curtseyed, and conveyed a scroll of parchment sealed with the Habsburg insignia. Anne took the latest offering, and thanked her Lady in Waiting. Just days before, Anne leapt with excitement every time she got an offer. She and Jane would crowd about the miniature portrait like giddy maids, and chatter incessantly about the suitor's strengths and weaknesses. Now, their was an air of grim camaraderie about them. It had become a production line, and as about as exciting.

"Louis of Bohemia," She read aloud to Jane once Nan had retreated to the ante-chamber where Prince William would be sitting down to his afternoon meal. "He is twenty five years of age, and the youngest son of a Duke. He likes hunting, reading, theology, and discourse. He loathes vice, avarice, and laxity. He is pious in his devotions, and would be the perfect gentleman to any woman."

"The same as all the others, then?" Jane remarked wryly. "What paragons those Habsburgs breed!"

"He is Mary's age," Anne pointed out, her voice now imbued with an undertone of renewed optimism. "He speaks English and French fluently. He is a lover of poetry and learning. He is fully literate, as well as a keen jouster, and..." Anne's words trailed off as she prepared for the real litmus test. The miniature portrait. Her eyes glittered as she looked Louis over. "...And he is extremely handsome!"

Jane was up out of her seat and round the table in a split second. She leaned far over Anne's shoulder to get a good look at the man, and gasped. "God's teeth, if I was ten years younger-"

"And the rest! Hands off, anyway, he is for Mary," Anne interjected with a yelp of laughter. "If she wants him, of course," She added, almost as an after-thought.

"Yes, yes, I know!" Jane sighed as she looked at the young man in the miniature. His eyes were bright blue. His skin clear, and pale, like fine china. But his hair was jet black, straight, and collar length. The artist could well have hidden the jaw, and painted the infamous mandible into some form of flattery. Only the real thing would prove otherwise, but that was a chance the women would have to take.

"I shall send for him," Anne firmly stated with a wide grin. "That is two potential suitors that we now have, and all being well both Louis, and the other can both be here in time for New Year!"

The 'other' was Edmund of Luxembourg. A fair haired, handsome boy of twenty years. The Emperor had largely followed the criteria of unimportant nobility, or youngest sons of unimportant nobility. No one too powerful. No one too threatening. Men who were sure to know their place in the great English scheme of things. Added to that were the aspects that Mary would require. Learning. Faith. Loyalty. It had made a difficult job that little bit more unpredictable, a little but more like stumbling blind folded through a maze. But the two candidates were perfect. Not only did they tick Anne's boxes, but they were not particularly needed in their home countries. They had elder brothers to do the important stuff like inherit Duchys; leaving them free to relocate to England and take care of an English Lady.

"Get the invitations sent, and we shall begin work on the party," Jane said, making it all sound so simple. "And hopefully, this time next year, we'll have her married off and retired to the country, where she can proceed to be no trouble to anyone!"

Anne sat back in her seat and helped herself to some more warmed wine that had gone cold in the damnable draughts. Either way, she felt she had earned a drink. She let her gaze wander back out of the window, out over the frozen ponds where there were no more daring ice walkers to be seen. They had been replaced by hairline fractures in the ice where the surface had broken. "Oh dear," She whispered to herself, thinking of the cold, wet ice blocks now probably tramping through the Palace.

* * *

><p>The Duke of Northumberland's footsteps echoed off the outer gallery walls as he strode purposefully through Windsor Castle. He rounded a corner, stormed down a passageway that led to the Queen's apartments, and knocked aside a young Groom in the process. The boy flinched into the shadows like a whipped dog, cowering. The Duke grunted insensibly without bothering to so much as look at him.<p>

"I'm in to see the Queen," He brusquely informed Anne's Chamberlain who was in his post beyond the Privy Chamber doors, flanked by two stony-faced guards.

"Is Her Majesty expecting-"

"Now."

The Chamberlain looked up at John Dudley's face in alarm, but made no further protest. He nodded to the guards who raised their pikes from the door, so that the Chamberlain could enter and announce the arrival of the guest. Dudley, meanwhile, paced impatiently; three steps back and forth, outside the apartments. Voices, muffled by the closed doors, drifted over to the Duke, but he made no effort at listening in. What was the point? He was not about to let himself be fobbed off. He was not about to be packed off to France like an exile, and Anne would have no choice but to hear him out.

"Her Majesty has agreed to receive you now," The Chamberlain informed him as he reappeared from Anne's inner sanctum. Like she had any choice, Northumberland thought silently to himself. He forced a smile, before pushing his own way through the doors. He bowed briefly to the Queen, who had arranged herself up on the dais. Standing at her full height. Her gowns pooled elegantly at her feet, so she looked like a statue draped in fine silks.

"Still here, Your Grace?" Anne enquired, her voice lazy, as she looked him up an down. "The King, I believe, sent for you almost a week ago now. You know King Henry. It is for the best that you do not keep him waiting."

"It is about that issue that I wish to speak with you-"

"I cannot change the King's mind," Anne cut him off, and shot him a withering look to emphasise her point. "He has sent for you, and it is your duty to obey. I trust you shall be gone by morning."

Dudley fell silent, and his expression remained utterly neutral. But, beneath the layers of calm acceptance, anger swelled in his chest. It weighed down on him like lead. With a deep breath, he made another attempt to protest his removal.

"Surely I would be better serving the King here, on the Council?"

"I am left Regent," Anne stated. "I have all the Councillors I need, and Henry needs more men. Send for your affinity in the North, and leave this place at once."

"But, Your Majesty, I-"

"Enough!" Anne finally moved from the dais. She stepped down, her train following her like the fabric was pure fluid, as she moved to be closer to the recalcitrant Duke. "I shall even, in my generosity to Your Grace, provide you with some of my own personal guards to escort you to Bolougne. It would awful for us all if you got lost along the way. Those boys of yours need their father."

The Duke trembled. Almost imperceptibly, but he shivered. Like ice had been dropped down the back of his shirt, the thrill of terror coursed through him as their eyes locked into each other. Anne did not so much as blink.

"I did not come here to seek a disagreement, Your Majesty," He explained. "I came to ensure that you could manage without me. Affairs of state are no -"

"I am sure I will manage."

"Very well-"

"And before you think to disobey my orders, or the orders of the King," Anne cut the Duke off again. "I strongly advise you to think about how your sons need their father. Of how difficult things would be for them if you were no longer around."

John Dudley was the grandson of one of old King Henry VII's most feared Councillors and tax collectors. A man who's reign of fiscal terror had brought about his own execution when the King Henry that now was succeeded to the Crown. This was not a fact that Anne had to remind Northumberland of. He took her meaning well enough. His eyes narrowed to slits in suppressed anger. He bowed out of the Chamber without so much as a parting shot.

* * *

><p>"Lady Mary," Bishop Gardiner called out as he swept through the Great Hall of Windsor Palace, with his entourage of Heretic hunters in tow. Lady Mary froze, her ladies came to abrupt halt behind her, narrowly avoiding crashing right into her as she did so.<p>

"Your Grace," She greeted the Bishop with a small curtsey. "Forgive me, I did not see you and your friends there. I was miles away." She lied uneasily. In truth, she had hoped that by some miracle, the man had not noticed her and her huge entourage passing through.

"That's quite all right, Princess. We're going in the same direction, so let's walk together," Bishop Gardiner beamed at her. He lied a lot more easily than did Mary; for their parties were walking in opposite directions. He was going out as she was coming in.

Mary was a Lady, and too polite to call him out on it. Instead she cast a nervy glance across her shoulder, looking over the politely interested faces of her Ladies, before looking back at the Bishop. "Of course, Your Grace. We'd be honoured if you joined us." Mary was getting used to lying already.

Mary was heading towards her section of the Royal Apartments, but now she deliberately changed course to direct the Bishop away from her rooms. As they entered a quieter spot, the Bishop began informing her his latest doings.

"We suspect some in the Queen's household of being incorrigible heretics," He righteously declared. "And even some in her personal Choir. If it's true, then only she could have hired them!"

Mary listened half-heartedly. Half wondering where the discussion would lead, the other half wondering how to shake him off. "Oh really?" She muttered, clasping the crucifix at her throat.

"Naturally, we shall be asking the King to sanction a full investigation into the matter," Gardiner continued. "Although, that tedious process could be so easily avoided."

"Oh really?" She repeated.

"Yes, if there was a plan to put a good, God fearing, Catholic on the throne, we could all work together to set this Realm in good order."

"Your Grace, I told you, I-"

"I notice that you have said nothing to the Queen about this?" Gardiner interrupted. Mary shot a startled glance in his direction.

"Of course I have not!" She gasped, wide eyed.

"So, despite your troubled conscience, you are still harbouring the plot," He bluntly stated. A few of the men behind him smirked.

"I am not harbouring anything, and if this is some attempt at blackmailing me-"

"My Lady, you misunderstand me." Gardiner held up his hands in a manner of conciliation. "All I mean is to reassure myself that you have not entirely given up on the idea. The faithful people of England are looking to you to rescue them from the jaws of this Protestant damnation."

Mary had almost told the Queen what Gardiner was doing. It had been on the tip of her tongue, but her courage had failed her. Did that implicate her in the plot? Was she guilty of treason already? She felt that way. Guilt crept like death through her. She tried to turn away, to break from the penetrative glare of the Bishop. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

"Come to my Offices tomorrow at noon, and we can talk privately about everything," Gardiner suggested, sensing that he would get no where with her at that moment. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away. It was better, he thought, to let her stew in her own juices, than give her an opportunity to turn him down flat.

Mary watched as the Bishop and his entourage receded from view, back into the main thoroughfare of the Palace. They were soon swallowed by the swarming crowds. As the ladies backtracked to their original destination, Mary found herself caught. Faith and people, or safety and stability? The rock, or the hard place?

"You should go, Your Grace."

Mary spun on her heels to find her Lady in Waiting, Frances Brandon, leaning in close to her.

"Hear him out, at least." Frances added, as they finally reached the Outer Galleries of the Royal Apartments. Mary made no answer. Any advice she received now would only add to the storm of confusion and guilt that had been whipped up in her head.

* * *

><p>The door to John Dudley's apartments at Court swung open, and Frances Brandon eased herself into the wide open Chamber. Her husband, Henry Grey, was all ready seated, shivering by the fire. She ducked a quick curtsey, and helped herself to a seat by the fire, and let the warmth envelope her.<p>

"Well," She stated at length, uninvited. "There has been some progress."

The reactions of the two men were decidedly underwhelming, so Frances continued. "Lady Mary is still being incited to treason by Bishop Gardiner, so I encouraged her to hear the man out. I think she'll do it."

"That's all very well, my lady," The Duke replied as he crossed the room to stand over the fire. "But that does not much help our immediate problem. I am being sent to France, and God alone knows when I shall be back. Nothing can progress in my absence. Nothing!"

"Then use the time wisely, Your Grace," Henry Grey advised, finally contributing to the conversation. "While you're in France, perhaps you could ensure that the King is met with an accident?"

The other two fell silent at his words. They both fixed their uncomprehending gaze on him. Henry merely studied the toe caps of his boots as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. In one hand, he cradled a shot of brandy. He looked as though he'd suggested nothing more than a nice friendly drink among friends, rather than regicide. It was Frances who spoke next, as her expression slowly softened.

"Perhaps he is right, Your Grace," She lifted her gaze to Dudley. "If you cannot get out of the war effort, then use it to our advantage. Without you, the King might have an accident. With you, he definitely will. Wars are like that. People die in them every day. Even Kings..." Her voice trailed off as she lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

The room is filled with the smell of wood smoke, and the sound of the crackling fire. The wind howls through the roof beams over head. A lone sleeping dog snuffles as it chases rabbits in it's dreams, it's tail lashing against the floor boards. A rhythmic thump that adds to the crackling tension that permeates the air they breathe.

"With the King permanently out of the way, the Kingdom would be ours for the taking," Dudley finally states as he watches the sleeping hound at the back of the room. "But, what about Mary and Gardiner? We need to stop them, not encourage them."

"Leave that to me," Frances stated, suddenly fully alert again. "We'll let Mary get so far in, then let the plot slip to Queen Anne, who will then destroy them all. Once we have them out of the way, it brings us legally closer to the Crown anyway. Then, we make our move. Then, we'll marry Jane to your son, Guildford. The act will be done."

All three exchanged a look as the unspoken, mutual consent passed through them all. Nothing further needed to be said.


	7. Plots, Intrigues, and Deceit

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot. I apologise for the delay in the update, but with Christmas and New Year being so hectic it is only now that I can finally concentrate on my projects again. I own none of these characters, events, or the TV show. Thank you again for reading this, and please read and review. Thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Plots, Intrigues, and Deceit. <strong>

"You cannot run from him for ever." Susan Clarencieux spoke softly as she watched her mistress, Lady Mary, thumbing mechanically through a book of Scripture. Her eyes didn't follow the lines of hand written text. They just lingered, unfocussed on the vellum pages. Her mind was obviously elsewhere, and it did not take Susan long to guess at what was distracting her.

Mary dropped the book as though startled. "Who do you mean?"

"Gardiner, of course."

Several years of friendship had worn away at the formality surrounding Mary and Susan. Although Susan was five years older, they had been friends for as long as Mary could remember. She picked up her book from where it crashed into the rushes on the floor, and dismissed the other ladies so they could speak privately.

"What am I to do?" Mary asked in a low whisper as the final member of her household disappeared around a crack in the door. "Every where I go, he is there. He lurks in the corners and the galleries waiting to spring out at me!"

She was not exaggerating, either. Ever since the plan had been spelled out to her, Mary had had the cantankerous Bishop yapping at her heels like a hunting hound on the scent. Gardiner was holding the memory of Queen Catherine over her like a rod for her back. Blackmailing her into treason. When that failed, he used Papal blessings as a carrot to tempt her into betraying her kith and kin. Pulled this way and that, it was like being caught between her mother and Anne Boleyn all over again. Now, as then, Mary fixed Susan with a hopeless stare, silently pleading for the answer to all her problems.

"You must go to him personally, and uninvited – that way, he'll know that you took the initiative, rather than being corralled into it – and tell him straight that you shall have no part in his power games," Susan explained and made it all sound so simple. "Furthermore, Your Grace, you must tell him that if he pursues you further you shall not hesitate to go to Queen Anne, and tell her everything-"

"You know I cannot do that!" Mary interjected. "If Anne knew that I had harboured the plan for this long-"

"She would think you foolish, and no more," Susan countered immediately. The expression in her warm, brown eyes was as soft as ever as she took Mary's hand. "Anne is still keen to make up for the unhappy past between you. Tell her everything, and she will protect you. Of that I am sure."

Mary did not reply immediately. She seemed to be arranging her thoughts, stiffening her sinews and bracing herself for a storm. "You will come with me, won't you?" She asked Susan, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Of course I will."

"We shall go first thing in the morning, and deal with Gardiner plainly," Mary was thinking aloud, and setting the plan of action clearly in her mind. But already she sounded more confident. "Then we shall visit the Queen."

The gaze of the two women met and they smiled. Mary felt the weight of worry shift and loosen it's grip in her chest. Resolved at last on a course of action, she could feel her sense of control return at last. Beyond her apartment's door, the evening wore on in the Palace. The Courtiers scurried like rats through the passages and galleries to their lodgings and chambers, while Mary and Susan made plans for the future.

* * *

><p>King Henry sniffed at the damp Bolougne air and wrinkled his nose in distaste. Beneath him, his horse stamped it's hooves into the sodden earth with a splash that sent a small shower of mud flying upwards. Henry scratched the beasts ears to soothe it, and cooed softly. It had little effect. The sound of the canons and the (usually backfiring) guns of the English troops had the animal dangerously on edge. As for the war effort in general, this attack on the garrison was so poor, that the French were not even bothering to come out and defend themselves.<p>

"Left section, form up!"

The Duke of Suffolk's voice boomed out across the field, and shook the King out of his private reverie. All around him, it seemed, swarms of red liveried men sprang out from behind rocks and low trench walls, weapons drawn and ready for another assault. They were wet, thin, and miserable looking. The conditions were affecting them all, and even the sturdy bulk of Charles Brandon was beginning to look somewhat diminished.

After a few moments of confusion, the English soldiers began to settle at their posts. Poised in a sort of limbo as they awaiting the command to launch another attack. It was only when they were like this, that Henry noticed just how diminished their numbers were, now. He made brief eye contact with the Duke, and shrugged helplessly. Charles turned back to the rank and file soldiers.

"Ready! Aim! Fire!"

Henry's horse almost reared up as the guns blasted once again. He jumped down from the saddle before the horse threw him off, and retreated into the pavilion tent for safety. Charles Brandon saw him vanish, and leaving Henry Howard in charge of the troops, followed him inside.

"When is Northumberland getting here?" Charles asked, his face creased with concern. "If we don't get back up soon, we'll be finished."

Henry couldn't be angry with Charles just for telling the truth. He made no reply, but moved to the place where a large table had been set up to act as the campaign headquarters. He lifted a letter bearing the royal seal and handed it to Charles, who took it gingerly between thumb and forefinger before reading it through. The further down the page he got, the deeper his frown furrowed his brow.

"What do you make of that, Your Grace?" Henry asked. "Northumberland was most unhappy to be sent here, and threatened the Queen. Anne explains it all in that letter!"

Charles carried on looking at the letter in his hands. He had never been one to involve himself in Court intrigues. It was to this that Charles attributed the fact that he still had a head on his shoulders, so he wasn't about to start involving himself in anything now. He let the letter slip back to the surface of the table, before looking at the King with what he hoped was a benign expression.

"He'll be here, Your Majesty. If not, we will hunt him down and hang him by the wayside."

He meant it as a joke, but the King didn't laugh.

"We need him, now," Henry sighed. "There has been an outbreak of the flux. Our men fall sick, some dead already. We need Northumberland and his troops now, more than ever. When – if – he gets here, watch him Charles. Make sure he behaves himself."

Charles nodded, and took a deep breath as Henry stumped painfully back to the stand to watch over his fighting men. He had hoped that this was just another letter discussing plans for Lady Mary's betrothal, but it's contents had him worried. His daughter, Frances, was a friend of the Duke of Northumberland. It made him uneasy, but this thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger.

"Your Grace," the boy bowed to the Duke. "His Grace the Duke of Northumberland and his army are but a mile away. He, and his troops, will be here within the hour, Sir."

Suddenly, Charles found himself wishing that the Duke had gotten waylaid, or disobeyed orders, and simply not showed up.

* * *

><p>A break in the English winter weather finally appeared, and Queen Anne seized the opportunity to take the children outside. The Princes, Arthur and William, and Princess Elizabeth, all finally freed from their seasonal captivity, ran amok in the Palace gardens. Normally, Anne would be keeping them under control and attempting to curb their exuberance, but today matters weighed heavily on her mind. She paced slowly through the wet, fallen, leaves and nibbled at the tip of her index finger; and old nervous habit that would not die.<p>

"The Scots have looted Berwick," She informed Jane Parker, who walked at her side. "What do you suppose their game is?"

"Whatever it is, you shouldn't take them on. Not while the King is away," Jane advised cautiously. She was careful to keep the note of worry out of her voice as she spoke. Berwick Upon Tweed was just on the English side of Hadrian's Wall.

"They style that baby girl as the Queen of England, you know," Anne laughed at the thought of it, despite her worry over the looting of an English border town. "Imagine that. Their infant Queen Mary replacing my Henry!"

"Maybe you should turn this to your advantage," Jane suggested as they took a seat beside a still frozen fish pond. The poor Carp would be dead in there. "If they spoil for war, which it looks as if they are, send a deputation to them. Rise above the provocation, and talk peace with them."

As Anne listened, her gaze fell on Prince Arthur, who was pretending now to be St George. Princess Elizabeth was the damsel in distress in an imaginary prison cell guarded by the dragon, who was being played by Prince William. Prince Arthur shot his imaginary long bow, and Prince William duly fell to the earth, thrashing out his final scenes in the dirt. Anne watched, and smiled as Elizabeth was 'rescued' by her brother. Two fine royal sons, both without brides as yet.

"I think I know how to win the Scots over," She said, still watching the children act out the final scenes of their impromptu dramatisation of the dragon slaying. Mary Queen of Scots, and Prince Arthur. It would keep the Scots out of England, and be a body blow to the French at the same time. For not only did the French have their eye on the Scots Queen, but they were traditional allies.

"I knew you'd think of something," Jane smiled as she too turned her attention to the children, who's play acting had finally been concluded. "Where is Lady Mary? I thought that she would have joined us by now."

"I dare say she is at prayer," Anne guessed, but really she had no firm knowledge. "She was always a devout girl, but these days she prays more and more. Prayers for guidance, prayers for strength, prayers for the sake of it. I worry for her, Jane. God knows, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I do worry for that girl."

"Surely her prayers will be answered in more ways than one, soon?" Jane asked, referring to the upcoming party where Mary would be presented to two potential suitors. The events were planned to take place over New Year, and that time was fast approaching.

"They're already on their way over," Anne grinned knowingly. "Both Louis of Bohemia, and Edmund of Luxembourg. Pray God it works out well with one of them, I should hate to send them both packing with no deal done."

The two women got up and began walking around the fish pond, one eye each on the children who now darted in and out of the barren trees. Their voices were shrill, and even from a distance, Anne could see the healthy glow in their faces. All three were robust, and she thanked God for it daily.

"Your Majesty!" A voice belonging to Lady Nan Saville cut through the crisp afternoon air, and jolted Anne and Jane out of their small talk. "A letter for you, and for her grace the Princess." Nan added as she dashed across the frosted lawns, puffing out of breath. Anne took both letters, and was about to call out to Elizabeth, when she turned round and found the Princess already right behind her, with eyes shining and an eager smile on her face.

"For me?" Elizabeth asked as she took the letter. "Oh, it's just from my cousin, Lady Catherine Carey. We write often." She added, seeing the inquisitive look on her mother's face. "Especially since the death of aunt Mary." With that, she sat down on the bench vacated by Anne and Jane a few moments ago, and read her letter with rapt attention.

Elizabeth had always been a thoughtful girl, Anne thought to herself as she turned her attention to her own letter. She groaned audibly as she saw the seal of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk.

"She is trying to palm her feral urchins off on to me again," She answered Jane's unasked question as Nan retreated hastily back indoors.

"They're not all bad, you know!" Jane laughed as she leaned to one side to read the letter. "Some of them even know how to please and thank you."

"It's a pity they don't know how to keep their skirts on," Anne retorted as she resumed her absent minded pacing around the Palace gardens. "Well, I can take one of them. Jane, when we get back inside, please write to the Dowager Duchess, and inform her that I will take Katherine Howard as a Lady, and tell her I shall speak with Kat Ashley and Lady Mary to see if I cannot find places for Joan Bulmer and Mary Lascelles, also."

Jane stopped for a moment. "Mary Lascelles is John's younger sister," She remarked. "You remember John Lascelles. He worked for Thomas Cranmer."

Anne remembered him well. Gardiner had launched a new assault on "heretics", and managed to bring down Cromwell. Encouraged by the early victory, Gardiner had then aimed higher, at Cranmer. All he managed to get was Lascelles, like some consolation prize. Nevertheless, the poor soul was burned at Smithfield, leaving Mary with no one to look after her. "I shall have Mary Lascelles for Elizabeth's household, I think John would appreciate that." All of her children were being raised in the Reformed faith, and if Anne could accommodate the families of her cause's martyrs, then so much the better.

Once the matter was settled, Anne rounded up the children. The afternoon was wearing on, and the air getting viciously cold. Inside, a hot meal, warm spiced wine and the open fire was waiting for them all.

* * *

><p>Princess Elizabeth opened the door to her chambers by just a fraction. Through the narrow fissure, she could see the guards pacing too and fro. Their halberds shone threateningly in the light of the braziers that burned in the draughty passage ways. She looked them up and down, then clicked the door shut before they could see her up and about. As she turned back towards her bed, she bit her lip and pulled another cloak around her shoulders. It would have to be by the servants door that she made her escape.<p>

Once she had taken a moment to plan her hastily re-arranged route out in her mind, she made for the servants door at the rear of her apartments. She carefully lifted a torch down from the brackets in the wall, and slipped down the dusty stairwell. Despite the extra cloak, she still shivered against the biting draughts that swept the corridors.

She paused at the spot where the servants stairwell split off into the direction of her parents privy apartments, and listened for any sign of human activity. She held her breath, straining to listen above the soft crackle of the torch flame. Tentatively, she peered into the doorway that led into the Queen's Privy Chamber, but she could hear nothing but the muffled voices of Queen Anne and her ladies as they talked whatever the adults talked about. She knew the route to her left would be empty, as that was her Father's Privy Apartments. Connected to Anne's through this servants' passageway, and through various inter-connecting doors in the main thoroughfare; yet still separate in all other ways.

Despite the lack of danger, Elizabeth used her free hand to carefully hoist her skirts above her ankles, and then tip-toed past the doorways to her parents apartments, and walked as fast as she dared down the twisting stairwell. As she went, she recalled over-hearing the Duke of Suffolk talking about how he used to smuggle Lady Anna Stafford, the sister of the Duke of Buckingham, to the King's chambers for secret love trysts. He had used these very stairwells as a discreet route to the King's Chambers. But, that was a long time ago. A long time before she was born, but still the story made her smile.

Finally, she reached the large open space used for storage. The air here was heavy with the smell of baking from the kitchens of the Palace. Ignoring her suddenly rumbling stomach, she stole through the Kitchens, stepping over the bodies of the sleeping kitchen children before entering the main Palace again, close to the spot where she was due to meet her friend. To her relief, he was already there.

"Robert!" She hissed from the doorway she had concealed herself in. Robert Dudley spun around, sniffing out the source of the noise for a few moments, before he finally spotted her, and grinned broadly.

"Bess!" He sighed as he closed the gap between them. "I thought you were not coming."

"Of course I am," She replied as he took her hand and led her down some quiet passageways, back towards the Royal Apartments. "I got your letter. I had to tell my mother that it was from Catherine Carey. I felt awful lying to her like that."

"This is important Bess," Robert justified himself, although he knew he did not really need to. "We need to talk, urgently."

Once they had slipped down a passageway which led to the offices of various dignitaries and Councillors, that they knew would be deserted in the evenings, they were finally free to talk openly.

"It is about my father," Robert explained. "He is in France fighting for the King, your father."

"Yes, I know," Elizabeth replied, her face creased in puzzlement, she was about to add more but Robert shushed her.

"There is something happening, Bess," He whispered in a low, urgent, voice. "I don't know what it is, but something is afoot, and I think you're all in danger!"

"What do you mean? What are you talking about, Robin?" Elizabeth bit down the note of panic in her voice and fixed him with a hard look, made harsher by the flicker of the torch that she still gripped in her hand. "What has been happening?"

"I over heard them talking about the marriage between my brother Guildford and the Lady Jane Grey," Robert explained breathlessly. He was in such a hurry to tell all, that the words tripped over themselves as he spoke. "Something about pushing her up the line of succession. Then they became furious about my father being sent to France. But once he had spoken with Henry Grey about it, he suddenly became very happy about his new appointment. Suspiciously happy, and now I am worried for you, Bess."

"Is that all you heard?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"No! It proves nothing, Robin. Just that you have been eavesdropping on things that do not concern you," Elizabeth was almost irritated. She had risked a lot to get there, only to be bombarded with half-formed conspiracy theories. "But listen out for anything new, and come back to me straight away if you hear anything, and I shall go straight to my mother. But do nothing rash. You will be flayed alive if you're caught!"

Robert hid his disappointment, and looked at her from across the small space that divided them. His soft hazel eyes glittered as a small smile spread across his lips.

"There is no one I would rather be flayed alive for. I serve only you, Princess Elizabeth," He spoke so gently, and the look in his eye made Elizabeth's heart melt. She stifled the girlish giggle that almost escaped her, but her reply was cut off by a sound that made her heart leap in panic. Robert heard it, too. Footsteps, more than one pair, were approaching rapidly from the other end of the passageway.

Elizabeth hastily deposited the torch in the nearest wall bracket, as Robert led her swiftly and silently down another servant's stairwell just beyond the doorway of the office they had hidden themselves in. They paused as voices could be heard.

"I tried to find you this morning, Your Grace." It was Lady Mary. Elizabeth risked going back to the door and peering through the old key hole. He could see both Mary and Bishop Gardiner. One of Mary's ladies hovered in the background at a respectful distance.

"I do apologise Lady Mary," Gardiner rasped, sounding out of breath. "There were some diocesan matters that needed my urgent attention. Why don't you come into my office here and we can talk."

"No, thank you," Mary's reply was curt. "This will not take long. I just came to tell you that you are to cease and desist with your plots against my step-mother and brothers. I will not join you, and I will not aid, assist or abet you in any way. Thank you for considering me worthy of being Queen, but God does not will it."

At Elizabeth's side, Robert tried to peer under the gap beneath the door, as they strained to catch every word that was spoken. Elizabeth could feel her heartbeat racing as she fixed her eye firmly to the keyhole. To her shock, Mary simply about turned, and marched away, leaving a mutinous, stunned looking Bishop Gardiner in her wake. Elizabeth's mind whirled as she kept him in her line of vision. She could see that he was trembling. The old demagogue who's name struck fear into many of the adults in Elizabeth's life, had been left shaking in his boots by just a few curt words from Lady Mary.

"What was that about?" Elizabeth gasped as Gardiner slammed the door of his office shut and his thumping footsteps could be heard proceeding through his office on the opposite side of the wall that divided them. Beside her, Robert shrugged, but his face was clouded by worry. With no further ado, they both slipped down the stairwell as quick as they could.


	8. All To Lose

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input is greatly appreciated. Secondly, I own none of the characters used in this story, none of the events, or the TV show.

Please read and review, thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight: All To Lose.<strong>

The distant winter sun filtered through the curtains of Lady Mary's privy chamber, where she lay awake and restless beneath the canopy of her four poster bed. Beyond her windows, the birds sang to one another from the branches of the barren trees, and the servants shouted to one another as they readied the whole of the Palace for the new day ahead. She could hear them moving through the galleries, replacing the candles and lighting the fires, before melting away again like the residue of a dream. These unseen menials were replaced by her army of ladies, moving in formation into her chambers to throw open the curtains and shutters to usher in the pallid light of the winter's morning.

Mary rolled over onto her side with a groan, squinting against the day's sudden intrusion upon her thoughts. Today would be the day that she had to face Queen Anne, and tell her of the plots being cooked up by Stephen Gardiner. She had run as far as she could, and played for as much time as she could. But now that Gardiner knew she was out, she was a threat to him; and that entailed her speaking to the Queen before he did.

Reluctantly, Mary turned back expecting to see Susan Clarencieux there to assist her, but instead she found herself face to face with Frances Brandon. "Your Grace," Frances addressed Mary formally at first. "You look as though you haven't slept in a month."

"There's been a lot going on," Mary replied more waspishly than she intended.

Frances' face darkened with worry as she arranged a dark satin gown for Mary to wear, but showed no reaction to her mistress's distemper. "Will this suffice?" she asked, holding up the gown for Mary's inspection.

Mary replied with a shake of the head, and pointed instead to a periwinkle blue and silver grey number. "We will be with the Queen today," Mary explained as she rose stiffly to her feet.

Frances cast an appraising look over the gown that Mary had pointed out, and nodded sagely.

"Then I would suggest the rubies, to give you some colour," she advised as she gestured for one of the ladies to brush the fabric down.

"Thank you, Frances," Mary said and smiled over at her cousin who now arranged some fine chains of ruby alongside the gown. She stopped what she was doing, and looked hard at Mary.

"You're in to see the Queen, did you say?" she asked as she began to dress Mary.

"It's time she heard what Gardiner is up to," Mary explained, her voice muffled as she held her arms out as Frances slipped the gown over her heard before struggling to work her arms through the sleeves. "This cannot go on. The man is becoming a danger to my brothers."

Mary did not see the flicker of triumph in Frances' eye. Instead, she helped to arrange the ruby chain around her neck, positioning it over her throat to accentuate the hollow above her bust. She fussed over her gown herself, if only to distract her from the nerves that fluttered through her heart and belly at the thought of her impending meeting with the Queen.

"You think that she will understand?" Frances asked as she turned her attention to Mary's hair. She brushed it through, teased it into a ram's horn style.

"I have it all planned," Mary answered as she picked out a fine jewelled caul to cover her hair. "I couldn't sleep for worry about it, but I know what I am going to say, and whatever the Queen thinks, she knows there can be no blame from my side."

Just as Frances fitted Mary's fine French hood, the finishing touches the whole ensemble, Susan appeared from one of the ante chambers that led into Mary's main apartments. She had in her arms a long fur cloak that Mary used for hunting. They smiled in greeting, and exchanged a nod.

"Hunting," Susan mouthed the word silently to Mary, as though not wanting to intrude upon the conversation with Frances. "Afterwards."

Mary gave a vigorous nod and finally the nerves began to ebb. As the knot of tension loosened she could see the way ahead a little more clearly, and it was like a slowly dispersing fog. After the blackmail, the upset and the past dredged up like a shipwreck, Mary could finally feel some renewed confidence.

"You will join us on the hunt won't you, Frances?" she asked eagerly turning to Frances who had now finished dressing her. Frances' gaze cast down to her feet.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but it is little Jane."

"Is she all right?" Mary asked, her brow knitted into a deep furrow. Jane was Frances' eldest daughter, she was family.

"We brought her to Court to visit her cousin, Princess Elizabeth," Frances answered. "But when she arrived, the journey so pained her that she has been sick all through the night. I must beg leave of your grace to attend her."

"Of course!" Mary gasped. "You must go now. Do not worry for me, and I shall send my own physicians over to your chambers after mass, before I go to the Queen."

Ill humours hung in the air over London. Mary had fallen victim to them on many occasions and she blamed the river dirt. To pass from the clean country air of Bradgate, to the foul odours of London, with its' filthy river and hovels, could be fatal. Everyone knew that. "I shall pray for Jane," she added quietly as Frances dipped into a deep curtsey, thanking her profusely before leaving.

Mary considered it her duty to protect her younger family members, no matter how distant the relation. She had bought the wardship of young Edward Courtenay, who had lost both of his parents to the scaffold following the Pilgrimage of Grace. She had been unsuccessful in having his lands restored to him, but he was being cared for at the Tower now. He was safe. He was like a son to her. Unconsciously, she ran her hand over the smooth, flat, front of her bodice. A son, she thought to herself. A child.

"Your Grace," Susan's voice gently intruded upon her thoughts. Mary realised that her eyes had misted over with unshed tears. "Shall we to mass, now?"

With one final appraising glance in the mirror, Mary discreetly wiped her eyes, and nodded her assent. Her ladies lined up in formation behind her, and together, they left for Mass. A ceremony that Mary knew she would spend going over the wording of her meeting with the Queen, all over again.

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><p>Frances Brandon quick marched through the passageways of the Palace that were now beginning to teem with Courtiers getting ready for the working day. Clerks, secretaries, servants, and even ministers were all hurrying to and fro, and none paid particular attention to her as she hurried on by with her skirts hitched above her ankles to keep from tripping in her haste. Time was not on her side.<p>

She by-passed the wing of the Palace where the privy apartments were, and the full time Courtiers were lodged, and instead made for the business end of the building. Here was situated the nerve centre of the whole realm. The decisions made behind these solid oak doors affected every man, woman, and child in the whole of England. The air about her almost crackled with the tension and the intrigues as man devoured man for his own advantage. Finally, she reached the door of the King's Secretary, and the Bishop of Winchester, Stephen Gardiner. She nodded to the guard who'd just taken up his place before the door.

"Announce me," she instructed him. "Lady Frances Brandon, Marquess of Dorset."

Without a word, the guard bowed and did as she told him. He emerged moments after vanishing behind the door, and bowed her inside. Frances caught her breath, and stepped inside, and found Gardiner sitting in a high-backed chair, surrounded by a weak pool of winter light, hunched over some crumpled papers. He duly set them aside, before squinting up at Frances through narrowed eyes, and a look of deepest suspicion on his face.

"You may wish to visit the Queen," Frances said as she looked down at the squat little man.

There was no love lost between these two, and Gardiner well knew it. "And why might that be, my lady?"

"Because Mary is also on her way to see her, after mass of course," Frances explained as she helped herself to seat before the desk. "When she does, she will sing like a bird released about all your little games. If you value your head, you'll do as I say."

Frances was aware of time ticking by. In a matter of hours, a meddling physician would be at the door of her family's lodgings, demanding to see Jane. She had to get there before him. So, with no further information, she decided to leave the Bishop hanging with only the most sparse of details.

"Why are you telling me this?" He demanded as he got unsteadily to his feet. He wanted to prevent her leaving, but she was already at the door.

"Heed my advice, Gardiner," she said as a parting shot. "And I will see you again soon. If not, you will be no good to any of us without a head on your shoulders."

She left him standing there, reeling from the news. He had suspected that Mary would talk eventually, and he thought he could find a way to silence her if she was implicated enough to bear some of the guilt. He knew also that Brandon and her people would do what they could to drag him down. Using the on-going Scottish raids on English border towns as a pretence, he immediately left for Queen Anne's Presence Chamber.

Frances, meanwhile, had arrived at her private lodgings within the Palace. The guards beyond the door bowed deeply to her before admitting her inside. Henry was already there, waiting for her, with Jane and Katherine reading quietly to themselves before the open fire. She cleared her throat to get their attention, and the girls immediately put down their books to greet their mother formally. Frances dropped to her haunches to be level with her girls.

"Katherine," she beckoned to her youngest with open arms. "Come to me."

"My lady mother," Katherine intoned politely as she wrapped her small arms around Frances' neck in an embrace.

"What are you reading, sweet heart?"

"King Arthur," Katherine replied and pointed to where the book now lay abandoned and splayed open in the rushes beside her chair.

"Are you enjoying it a lot?" Frances asked beaming. Katherine gave an enthusiastic nod, and her mother continued: "Then why don't you take your book, and your favourite dolly to Mrs. Ellen in the nursery, and you can spend the day playing there?"

Henry Grey moved over to his wife's side, but remained standing, where they both smiled indulgently as Katherine's eyes widened with delight. She looked like a prisoner given unexpected day release. With a final curtsey to her parents, she departed with her nurse in tow, leaving just Jane, still with her eyes directed politely at the floor. Frances gathered herself for a moment, before ushering Jane into a hug.

"Would you like to play a game, sweeting?" Frances asked her.

Jane looked up quizzically. "What sort of game, mama?"

"That's my daughter!" Henry boomed jovially from where he lurked above his wife and daughter. "Never agree to anything until you get the full story, and only if the price is right!"

Frances looked up at him disapprovingly, and he fell silently instantly. Turning back to Jane, she continued. "I need you to tell the physician that you have been ill, and you will have to spend the morning in bed. Do it, and I promise you lots of lovely treats from the kitchens."

Jane realised she had no real choice in the matter, and let her mother smudge soot from the edge of the fire place under her eyes to darken them, and make her skin look more pale. That done, and she too was taken away with instructions to confine her until after the physician had been.

"Frances what an earth is going on?" Henry asked, sounding utterly bemused by the whole situation.

"It's a long story," Frances said as she eased herself down into Jane's vacant seat by the fire. "Mary has backed out of Gardiner's plot, and was about to blow the whole thing to Queen Anne. So, I excused myself from Mary's service on grounds of Jane's ill health, and tipped Gardiner off."

While he digested what had happened, Henry poured them both a drink and sat in the seat opposite his wife. "Would it not have been better to let Mary go ahead and report Gardiner? He is no ally of ours."

"He is now," Frances said as she took a sip of her drink and reclined in her seat. All the hurrying about had left her exhausted. "We have him over a barrel, now. Don't you see? He knows that we know about his plots, and he doesn't know about our plans. Meaning, we have the advantage, and he can be used, Henry."

Henry looked across the small space that divided them. "For all our sakes, I pray you know what you're doing."

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><p>Queen Anne fixed her hood and gown in the mirror as she waited for the arrival of Lady Mary. Princess Elizabeth yawned expansively at her side, and Anne suppressed a sigh of impatience. Lady Rochford bustled about the Privy Chamber, supervising the army of ladies who were setting the breakfast table for the royal family. Knives were polished, and arranged by plates of gold. Magnificent centrepieces were set at the long table, and fluted glasses that splintered the light were set.<p>

Mary was due at any moment. However, when her Chamberlain next appeared, it was to announce the arrival of Bishop Gardiner. Jane had recently taken to calling him the "witch finder" in private, and the she and Anne now exchanged a wary glance. Nothing was said, and Anne stepped around Princess Elizabeth, and passed through to her Presence Chamber where Gardiner stood hunched over a sheaf of papers in a bow.

"Your grace," she greeted him as she took her seat upon the dais. "What news?"

"Your majesty, the Scots have once again raided Berwick Upon Tweed, and the situation there is becoming more dangerous. Other towns, perhaps even Durham, could now be under threat," he said as he corrected his posture to look directly at the Queen.

"Have you done as I commanded, and sent a delegation to the Scots' regency council?" Anne inspected her fingernails as she spoke. Another old nervous habit that proved reluctant to go. She already knew that he had ignored her commands.

"I was about to-"

"If the King were here, he would have your head!" She snapped waspishly, fixing him now in a steely glare. "What delays you, Winchester?"

The colour now drained from Gardiner's face. He stood, rooted to the spot, like a cornered deer, as he fumbled for an answer. He had sought to humiliate her. He had hoped to have her off the throne, with Mary's help. "If we parley with the Scots too soon, or act in haste it could be construed as an act of aggression on our part."

"Exactly what part of a peace delegation could be construed as an act of aggression, your grace?" Anne asked, still keeping Gardiner under her glare. "Unlike pillaging and looting, which as an act of aggression that the Scots have meted out to my people, the King's people, while you dither! Or do you want war with the Scots?"

"No, of course not, your majesty," Gardiner countered and an angry red flush now crept into his greying face. "I sought only to entreat with caution, and make our next move a decisive one."

"In that case, I shall tell you what our next move shall be," Anne's tone returned to normal, and she sat back in her seat. "You shall write the Scots', and invite a delegation of them down to London, for New Year. You shall tell them that I wish to make a proposal, and that we shall reach agreements on trade, business, and farming. Play their cards right, and a more permanent alliance could be forthcoming. The King will approve this, and you shall see to it personally." Anne wanted him to have no room for quibbling or procrastination. "You will do this immediately."

She got up from her seat, and ignored the pained look in the old Bishop's eyes as she began to retreat back into her Privy Chamber to prepare for her family breakfast. As a treat for Mary, she had invited the whole family. Elizabeth was already there, and the Princes Arthur and William were being brought from their nurseries especially. But before she could withdraw, Gardiner spoke, and she could not ignore him without appearing rude. No matter her personal feelings, he was still a Privy Councillor.

"Your Majesty," he spoke, and his voice (to Anne's shock) was plaintive. Almost pleading. "No matter what anyone says, I seek only to serve the King, and protect the interests of the realm as a whole. I seek no personal gain, however things may appear."

Anne looked at him in silence as she tried to think ahead as to Gardiner's motive. But before any reply could be formulated, the Chamberlain was back, and Lady Mary was announced. Anne nodded for her to be admitted, and for Gardiner to be dismissed. The two met as one left and the other entered. Their eyes met as they passed. No words were spoken at all. Not even a formal greeting.

Once they were safely inside the Privy Chamber, Mary dipped a small curtsey to Anne, and kissed her sister Elizabeth on both cheeks. "I trust your graces are well this morning?" She asked, beaming at both her step-mother and Elizabeth. As they lapsed into small talk Mary cast a nervous glance back towards the Presence Chamber, where Gardiner had just vacated looking like a man on the run. For one horrifying moment, Mary thought that he'd been talking to Anne about her. But, the Queen's countenance was far too light for Gardiner's visit to have been about that.

"His highness, the Prince of Wales," the voice of the Chamberlain called out as trumpets suddenly sounded from out in the Presence Chamber. They all got to their feet, and Mary's spirits soared as her brother came into view. She had guessed that Elizabeth would be present, but Arthur was a surprise. His bright blue eyes widen and shone with excitement when he spotted her there.

"Lady Mary, may I have the honour of dining with you this morning?" he asked, doing his best to sound the perfect chivalrous gentleman, and bowed deeply. The women sighed indulgently, and Mary laughed.

"The honour is all mine, your grace," She stepped forward to raise him from his bow and kissed his cheek. She noticed that he was flushed with pride.

No sooner had Arthur arrived, than William was announced too. As they all assembled, Mary saw her chances of speaking to the Queen slip away. She had hoped to do it over the breakfast itself. But as the barely controlled chaos finally settled down, the whole family lapsed into cheerful banter and an exchange of news from the schoolroom. No room for politics, and Mary found herself grateful for the diversion.

Mary listened intently to the talk as she picked at the breakfast spread. Although she had wanted to speak with Anne, she was glad of the delay. The atmosphere in the Privy Chamber was the best it had been since King Henry went away. The children were laughing and smiling, and Queen Anne was in her element as she regaled them with stories of her time in France, and even earlier in Austria with the Duchess.

"I was young, then," Anne reminisced with a distant look in her eye. "So very young, with my whole life ahead of me."

A thoughtful silence fell as they all turned their attention to Anne, all suspecting that her wistful reminiscences were heading somewhere. It was not in her nature to be maudlin. Even Prince William stopped playing with his food to look at his mother through wide, dark, eyes.

"You are still young," Mary laughed, trying to inject some levity into the conversation that had suddenly moved to darker tones.

"But I am not, Mary," Anne answered as she covered Mary's hand with her own. "That is why I have asked you to be here, today. You see, the Council, your father, and I, have been making some plans for you."

Mary had been about to nibble at some cheese. But her hand froze and the cheese fell back to the table with a small thump. "Plans?" she repeated.

"For New Year we have invited two fine gentlemen to Court," Anne's smile returned, brighter than before. Mary could tell she had been desperate to get to this moment since the breakfast began. "They will both be vying for your hand in marriage."

The breath caught in Mary's throat and she struggled for air as the words sank in. Her mind reeled, but she caught the eye of Susan Clarencieux who gave her an encouraging nod from where she was stood against the far wall. Mary noticed that even Jane Parker was beaming brightly. "Who?" she finally gasped. As soon as she spoke, excitement surged through her as though speaking aloud had made it all real.

"There is Louis of Bohemia, due to arrive at Rochford on the morrow," Anne said. "There is also Edmund of Luxembourg, arriving in two days if all goes well. You will be presented to them at the New Year feasts, and over the holidays we will put on dances and masques."

"So you cannot even think about returning to the country for New Year," Elizabeth piped up from her seat at Mary's left.

"We have selected men of honour, and father says they must joust. Only then will we know how honourable they really are," Prince Arthur advised sagely.

Mary looked around at them all. "You all knew of this?" she asked, exasperated, touched, and amused in equal measure. She didn't know if she wanted to scold them all, or kiss them all. But, for first time in a long time, she knew that she was happy. A ripple of suppressed laugher went around the room, as though an in joke had finally been revealed. Again, Mary struggled to articulate her feelings. She blushed and gulped as her mind raced ahead to New Year. So soon, that she would be in a frenzy from now until then. "Thank you, your grace," She finally stuttered.

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><p>The day wound down as gradually, and as noisily, as it had began. Back in her Privy Chamber Lady Mary struggled to take it all in, still. Susan, on the other hand, struck cautious notes. The issue of Bishop Gardiner had still not been addressed, and now Mary had it all to lose. "It will be done," Mary had assured her.<p>

But things had changed. Everyone's minds were really focussed on the preparations for New Year. The festivities eclipsed all else. And that night, as Mary lay awake in bed, she looked up at the canopy above her bed as she did the night before, and began to hope. For the first time since her childhood, she had a hope of that which she had yearned for.


	9. First Impressions

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, your input means a lot. I'd like to clarify that I own none of the characters, the TV show, or the history. Thanks again, and please read and review.

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: First Impressions.<strong>

December brought with it the wind blown snow storms that laid the land to waste from the towns and the cities, to the villages and hamlets. The fishermen left their boats in port, and the farmers retreated into the sanctuary of their homes, to seek what respite they could from the bitterness of the season. When the sun eventually rose, it shed little light from behind it's shroud of iron grey clouds, even less warmth, and set again within hours. The days were now at their shortest, and their bleakest.

To survive the month, the people had to live on the provisions stored since summer. Dried salted fish, pickled fruits, and whatever vegetables had survived the blights that tore through the harvests. The poorest city folk, and the landless countrymen did not even have this. They were forced to beg for alms at the doors of the wealthy or from beyond the city gates. The end of the year took the old and the weak with it, the young and the strong would be diminished by hunger and desperation.

But although the world seemed plunged into an eternal night, it was then that the celebrations began. The people, no matter how harsh the season seemed, knew that spring was around the corner, and soon nature would exert herself once more, and they would all be there to welcome her when she did. With the birth of Christ, life begins anew for all of them.

Queen Anne had decided to remain at the Palace of Westminster to preside over the Christmas and New Year festivities. The nobility were beginning to arrive barely a week into December, coming earlier than usual before the visiting foreign dignitaries could snap up all the best lodgings. Every day, Anne swept through the Palace with her army of Ladies in tow. She would point to various places, stating where she would like wreaths of holly and ivy to be strewn. New royal standards, Hapsburg as well as Tudor, were now hung from the rafters of the Great Hall. The colours of Luxembourg and Bohemia had been strewn from every beam to make their visitors feel at home, but welcome in England, at the same time.

Finally, in the second week of December, the day had come for a delegation to set off for the small town of Rochford, in Essex. It was here that Louis of Bohemia was due to dock, and Anne wanted the highest ranking Ladies and Gentlemen of the realm there to greet him. Protocol and propriety dictated that Mary could not go, so she remained in the Queen's chambers, beside herself with worry, nerves and elation.

Prince Arthur had appeared earlier that day, dressed in his finest ermine riding cloak and with a small gold coronet on his head. He'd swept a low bow to his sister. "Do not worry, Lady Mary," he'd said to her, watching as she paced and bit her nails. "I shall bring him safely home to you, and protect him as though he were of my own kin. As I would you."

Prince Arthur was barely ten years old, and Mary had laughed good naturedly. "Then I know all shall be well, Your Grace," she replied as she stooped to kiss his cheek.

Arthur was Henry in miniature, in looks and chivalry. He'd bowed low once again, before leaving the Privy Chamber with his tutors, governess and servants in tow, ready to join the delegation that would ride out to Rochford. Anne and Mary followed at a close distance to wave the delegation off.

"Not long now, Mary," Anne said as the delegation meandered it's way beyond the Palace gates.

The breath hitched in Mary's throat, and she changed the subject. "I shall send alms to the paupers at the gates," she stated. And then, she thought to herself, I shall spend the next few days deciding what to do with my hair.

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><p>France in December. The rain was a little warmer than it was in England, this far south. But that didn't make much difference. King Henry had withdrawn into the pavilion to rest his leg, the old ulcer suppurating thick yellow fluids once more. Not three months before he'd left England, the physicians had removed an old shard of wood that been found embedded in his thigh from his last jousting accident, and he dared to hope that that had been the end of it. But now it was back, and as painful as ever.<p>

His temper was at a constant simmering point, and liable to boil over at the slightest provocation. Charles Brandon had been on the receiving end, and even some soldiers who'd cried off sick with the bloody flux. At times of lucidity he knew he was out of line, but when the pain nagged constantly, it was as though the wound were controlling him. He could feel the poison running from the sore, infecting every part of him, before eventually becoming him.

"Your Grace," the Duke of Northumberland bowed low to the King as he entered the tent. "I have a suggestion to remedy your pains."

Henry peered through the fog of his failing eye sight at the Duke who now towered over him, poultice in hand. "You can't do any worse than these butchers and charlatans of mine," he meant it as a joke, but the pain he suffered gave his tone an aggressive edge. He sounded like he wanted their heads on a platter. "What is it made of, any way?" He nodded to the poultice.

Emboldened by the fact that Henry had not yet ripped his spine out, John Dudley stepped a little closer and held out the poultice. Herbs infused with ointments, wrapped in fine muslin. "It is made from marjoram, and a paste of crushed pearl, lead, and and mixed with a little salted vinegar. It draws out the toxins, and kills the infection."

"Have you tried it yourself?"

"Not personally, but it is something my wife swears by," Dudley insisted and held the poultice out a little further so it was within Henry's grasp.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Henry took it, and felt it ooze within it's bindings. Vinegar was always the best for removing infection, but there was something else in there, if the smell of it was anything to go by. "Pull that screen over, will you? I want to try this now, and I need you to stay and talk to me."

Dudley did as he was bid. The screen would give the King some privacy while he applied the poultice to his leg. Nevertheless, Dudley gestured to a young groom to come and help him. Henry, meanwhile, struggled to get his breeches down, even with assistance. As soon as he pressed the poultice to the open wound, the vinegar did it's work. A searing pain tore through the flesh. He gave a sharp gasp, and his eyes swam with tears. Poultices had never been as sharp as this before.

"That's … That's very efficacious, Your Grace," Henry said as he winced through the sting.

The Groom held a towel beneath the wound to catch the fluids that now spilled down the King's thigh. Soon, the pain gave way to a soothing cool sensation that he had not had from any other poultice.

"Now bind the leg tightly," Dudley instructed the Groom from the opposite side of the screen. "But before you do that make sure that the poultice is spread evenly."

Once the job was done, Henry could feel the pain drain from his thigh. It was still tender, and the skin still flushed a livid, blotchy, red. But the pain was ebbing away nicely, making him feel like he was floating on air. A bright smile of pure relief filled the old King's face, and finally the two could get down to the business of discussing the war with the French.

The Emperor had finally sent some back up troops, and work had begun on a tunnel that would lead them straight to the walls of the city. Then, they would plant barrels of saltpetre directly under the city walls themselves, and the French wouldn't have a hope of surviving. The Duke explained it all carefully and clearly, but in all of his years of campaigning, Henry had never heard of such a thing. In his younger days, it was all longbow men and the rules of chivalry. Nevertheless, he yearned for home, and for victory, so chivalry could go to the devil in hell.

By the end of the short briefing, Henry, although exhausted and washed out, was feeling on top of the world again. The pain was gone completely, and now only a faint irritation remained. The Duke's poultice had worked miracles.

"Tell me, Your Grace, how can I ever repay you for what you have done?"

Dudley stopped for a moment, and looked at the King directly before protesting that he needed no reward. As he fully expected, Henry flapped a dismissive hand at his protests. "I insist!" Henry mock-chided as he dealt a playful thump to the Duke's upper arm.

Dudley pretended to think for a moment, before saying: "Actually, I had been speaking with Lady Frances Brandon and her husband the Marquis of Dorset. We were thinking of a marriage between Lady Jane Grey and my youngest son, Guildford Dudley."

"My little niece Jane?" Henry asked.

"That is so, Your Majesty. Would I have Your Majesty's permission? She is of your blood, so if you say no-"

"Why ever would I say no?" Henry cut across the Duke. "Like I said, anything. Go ahead and have the pre-contract drawn up, if that is what the Marquis wills." Henry didn't see the harm. Jane was never likely to inherit anything beyond her father's estates, and was therefore a safe distance from the crown. He saw no harm in it, just as he saw no glitter of triumph in the Duke's eye.

* * *

><p>Stephen Gardiner's hands trembled violently as he held the bottle of malmsey over the pewter goblet. He sent the wine spilling over it's sides, and pooling messily at its base. He cursed heavily, then crossed himself with his free hand before slamming the bottle back down on the window ledge behind his seat.<p>

Over the last few days, since he'd met with Frances Brandon, and Lady Mary had pulled out of his plots, he had been reduced to a nervous wreck. Every time he ventured beyond the doors of his offices, he mentally prepared himself for the sight of the arresting office come to take him away. He tried to imagine their halberds glittering dangerously as they barred his path. It was the waiting that was reducing him to a wretched nervous wreck.

To keep the Queen's temper sweet, he had done as she asked. A delegation of Scots were on their way down to London, and would be arriving in time for the New Year's celebrations. They would gather around the table to talk peace and trade, rather than shout about pillage and plunder. If he could successfully pull off marriage negotiations between the infant Queen Mary and Prince Arthur, perhaps he could even salvage something of his reputation, should the truth come out.

It was around noon when the knock came upon his door. It startled him, making the colour flush his face as he dropped the goblet of wine. For a moment, he stood and looked at the door, willing the callers to give up and go away. But after just a few moments, the angry, muffled, voice of Frances Brandon could be heard calling out to him.

"I know you're in there Winchester."

He didn't know what was worse. The halberd bearing yeomen of the guard, or that woman traipsing across his threshold as though she owned the place and everything in it, including him. Reluctantly, he answered the door and to his dismay, the Marquess was not alone. Henry Grey slouched nonchalantly against the wall behind Frances.

"There you are," she said as she pushed past him and into his office. "It's time we all had a little tête-à-tête is it not?"

Henry Grey followed his wife inside and they both settled themselves in two high backed chairs before his desk. Frances' eyes roved over the cluttered desk, and came to rest on the spilled wine.

"Tut tut, Winchester," she reproved mockingly. "Hitting the bottle this early in the day. Mary really has got to you, hasn't she?"

Gardiner watched them helplessly as they made themselves at home. Just a few short weeks ago both of them had been on his heretic hit-list. Now, they had him dancing on a string.

"How may I be of assistance, my lady?" he asked, pointedly refusing to answer any queries about his drinking habits.

Frances' gaze snapped away from the wine, and met Gardiner's as he resumed his seat behind the desk. She gazed at him searchingly for several long seconds, her mind clearly whirling.

"Whatever could you possibly do for us, Gardiner?" she finally asked, an infuriating half-smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "No. This is about what we're going to do for you."

Burn her? He wanted to strangle her. But given his tenuous position he merely choked on his ire, and tried to look politely interested. "And what, pray tell, is that you are going to do for me?"

"Well, you have a problem, don't you?" Frances asked. The question was a rhetorical one.

"A problem?" Henry suddenly guffawed at her side. "Poor old Winchester's got problems, all right. Several of them. Isn't that right, Stephen."

Gardiner exercised all of his powers of restraint, and kept his gaze firmly on the rather less infuriating face of Frances Brandon. "Do continue, Madam."

"So, you thought that my cousin Lady Mary would be a push over," Frances said. "You thought that you could blackmail and coerce her into being your good Catholic puppet Queen, at the cost of her own family. Turns out you were wrong. Mary is no fool, and she is stronger than she lets on. You underestimated her, Gardiner. Now she could go running to the Queen and tell all at any moment. And when she does..."

Frances let the sentence trail off, but Henry finished it for her.

"You will be feeding the carrion crows on Tower Hill faster than you can say a Pater Noster."

"So what we are willing to do for you," Frances resumed. "We will be willing to remove that problem for you. Permanently."

Gardiner looked dumbstruck. As though they had suddenly started speaking in an alien language. But the meaning soon started to filter through, and he could sense the colour draining from his face. "You will be disembowelled for it!"

"Who will sentence us, Gardiner?" Frances asked, sounding mildly amused. "Trust us, Henry and I have grand plans for the future, and we need certain obstacles to be cleared out of the way as much as you do."

"And in return for your obstacle clearing services?"

"I need you to marry my daughter Jane and the Duke of Northumberland's son," Henry stated. "Then, we will be needing a new Archbishop of Canterbury. Then there will be a Coronation, which we fully expect you to perform."

Gardiner's eyes flickered from one face to the other, and back again. He waited for the punchline, for this was surely a joke. But neither Frances nor Henry were smiling now. Not even that infuriating smirk. He bent down to retrieve his fallen goblet, and poured himself another glass of wine. He had a feeling he would be needing it.

* * *

><p>Lady Mary looked out of her chamber windows, and over the gardens. A thick layer of dazzling snow coated the grass, and capped the hedgerows. Even the rocky walls had been given a soft, undulating, dream scape quality by the softening snowfall. For the first time she realised just how beautiful it all looked. A brand new day. A day that would end with her being formally presented to the first of her two suitors.<p>

"Your Grace," Susan Clarencieux spoke gently as she edged around the door of the chamber.

Mary, startled out of her daydreams, jumped back from the window. "Susan," she said. "I am ready to be dressed now."

"Of course, Your Grace," Susan answered. "But, I should tell you, your new Lady in Waiting has arrived. Lady Mary Lascelles. She was a ward of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk."

"I shall swear her in later," Mary replied as she prepared to face the agonising decision over which gown to wear when she met Louis. She looked over one of her recent favourites. A crushed velvet red skirts, with black over panel. The sleeves gathered at the elbow, so they flared at the wrists, reaching almost her ankles. "This one," she stated firmly with a smile.

Once she was laced into the gown, she picked large ruby necklace, and a diamond brooch to pin to her front. She fitted her own earrings of black opal, before the ensemble was finished off with a French hood lined with seed pearls. Mary studied herself in the mirror, and gave an impatient sigh.

"It will for now," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"You look beautiful Lady Mary," Susan said, trying to reassure her. She could tell, however, that Mary was far from content. Her face fell, and tears welled in her eyes. "What is it?" she gasped, and took Mary gently by the shoulders, ready to dab away any stray tears that fell.

"I can't do this," Mary choked trying to keep her emotions in check. "They will both find me old, and ugly, and shrivelled up like an old spinster. Just look at this gown. It's wearing me, not the other way round!"

Susan looked her up and down. "Nonsense, Your Grace," she said after a few moments of inspection.

"But everything rides on these meetings," Mary pointed out helplessly. "My future happiness. Everything I have ever wanted."

"You're thinking too much," Susan said as she embraced her mistress. "Just be yourself, and they will soon see past all these surface details, and these baubles. It is you who is to be married, not your gown."

"But if I don't make a good impression, than I shall not be marrying at all!"

At that moment, a girl cleared her throat from the doorway. Mary and Susan spun around to find a small, dark haired lady peering shyly into the chamber. She blanched in fear as she noticed them looking at her. She gulped a few times before finally remembering protocol by dipping into a low curtsey, and finding her tongue to explain her intrusion.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she said. "But, I could not help but over hear-"

"Have you been eavesdropping, Mistress Lascelles?" Susan angrily demanded, but Mary sushed her.

"It's all right, Lady Lascelles. What can we help you for?"

"Well, it's just a girl I know has just been sworn into Queen Anne's household, and I think she might be able to help you. In fact, I know that she can help you. She knows all about hair and fashion, and all the latest styles."

Mary listened with growing interest. "Who is she?"

"She is Lady Katherine Howard, the niece of the Duke of Norfolk."

Mary and Susan conferred among themselves for a minute, but evidently agreed to see the new girl. "Go to the Queen, and ask her to send Lady Howard over as soon as she can be spared."

With that, Mistress Lascelles, looking highly relieved, vanished back into the outer gallery. Lady Mary could hear her footsteps receding off into the distance. But finally, she could feel some renewed hope. Normally, she was perfectly capable of selecting her own gowns, her own jewels, and making herself perfectly presentable. But it was as though her whole future now hung in the balance, and one hair out of place could cost her everything. She turned her gaze back out of the window, out at all the snow that smothered the gardens and hedges. She wanted this day to be over as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>Night was once again closing in around the walls of Windsor Castle when the household began to assemble at the front of the ancient fortress. The beacons along the road had been lit, and sand laid down to help ease the way for the many horses that were expected to be making their way inside soon. Every single member of staff, from the lowliest of the kitchen boys, to the immaculate Grooms, had been given clean livery to wear when they received the first of the foreign guests. The ranks filed out all along the front walls. Up to one thousand people in all were employed by the Palace.<p>

Once the staff were out, then came the nobility. The squires, knights, barons, earls, marquises, and Dukes; in that order from the lower orders to the higher. The Bishops were represented by Gardiner, and the Archbishop, Thomas Cranmer. They led the way for the Queen and her full retinue to take up their place of prominence among the vast crowds that now assembled in rank and file.

Queen Anne stood, resplendent in satin and damask, coronet placed firmly on her head, and jewels sparkling from her throat. Her ladies brushed down her gown where she stood, holding herself with poise, like a statue while the women did their work to her. As they moved away, however, she caught Lady Rochford by the elbow.

"Where is Lady Mary?" she asked in a low voice. "I have not seen her since this morning."

"No idea. Should we be worried?" Jane relied as she glanced back into the Palace for a sign of Mary.

"Jesú, I think I can hear them!"

"I'm freezing!" William spoke up as he tugged the flared sleeves of his mother's gown.

"William, shush!" Elizabeth snapped at her youngest brother who shivered to her left.

"Children!" Anne scolded them both. "Please, Lady Jane and I are trying to talk."

"Katherine Howard is here," Jane nodded to the newest of Anne's ladies who was now lined up just behind her. "Maybe we should ask her? She was helping to prepare Mary for the meeting."

"Oh heavens!" Anne cried. "It's too late. They're coming. Quickly, Jane, run over and send Lady Katherine out to look for her."

With that, Jane disappeared into the crowd to send Katherine on her mission. Anne, meanwhile, kept watching as the vast retinue of Louis of Bohemia came ambling into view. Her heart beat raced, and she kept glancing over her shoulder, and sending up silent prayers that Mary would show up to be formally presented to her suitor. The last thing she wanted was for the Bohemian delegation to take it as a snub. But as she peered into the distance, she thought she saw the shimmering of something silvery white bursting on to the road that led to the Palace. Caught between the advancing procession, and the Palace. "Oh good God, who is that?" she whispered to no one in particular. If it was some imposter, she would have them clapped in irons later.

* * *

><p>"Quickly, this way!" Susan's voice called out as she and Mary went skidding down the gallery towards the Great Hall.<p>

Mary stopped for a moment to catch her breath and clutch at the stitch in her side. "I can't," she panted. "Must … breathe …"

Katherine Howard had been as good as her recommendation. Mary was a vision in silver- white and cream damask, satins and silks. She even had silk stockings, and silk slippers of silver grey. Her hair had been brushed to a glossy perfection. But the last minute delays had cost her precious time, and now she was running late. Poor Mistress Lascelles had gotten lost in the race to the Great Hall, and was probably now roaming the galleries desperately looking for the way out.

Once she had stopped panting, Mary clamped one hand over the silver, jewelled diadem that the Queen had loaned to her, and used her free hand to hitch up her voluminous skirts. With one bracing intake of breath, she took off again at full pelt towards the short cut she had remembered.

"Susan!" She called out to her Lady. "Down here, it's shorter!"

Mary hurtled herself at a door, and burst into the open with Susan hot on her heels. She came to a jolting halt as she looked all around her. Darkness was falling. Her gown shimmered in the light of the rising moon, an effect she loved. But, her heart beat raced as she realised that they had emerged at the wrong side of the Palace. Susan's gaze darted all over the place, but she soon took the initiative.

"Cut across the lawns, and we'll be there in no time!"

They took off again. The snow was soaking into Mary's gown, her silk slippers soaked through and freezing her feet until they were numb. It felt as though she had run miles by the time they had raced around the back of the Palace to the front road way. She almost collapsed with relief when she saw the beacons shining on the drive way.

"We've made it!" she gasped as she picked up her pace in one final surge of energy.

Mary could see the whole of the Palace congregated in waiting for the arrival of the visitors. They would all see her running up the driveway, but she was beyond caring because she now chronically late. Queen Anne would be going spare waiting for her, after all her planning.

"I need to stop," Mary gasped again as she came to a rest at the road side. She turned to her right where the whole household seemed to looking in her direction. "God's death, I hope they cannot see me!"

"It's not them you need to worry about," Susan whispered in an undertone. "It's them," she nodded to the left, towards the Palace gates.

Mary turned to look. The sand on the road had disguised the sound of the horses hooves, and her mind had been in such a whirl that she missed the enormous procession snaking it's way through the gates. A grand carriage was at the front, the flag of Bohemia proudly flying from the front.

"Don't let him see me like this!" Mary squealed as she tried to get out of the path of the carriage. "I cannot have him see me like this!"

Just then, another voice bellowed from the distance. "Lady Mary! Lady Mary! The Queen is worried!" Mary, startled out of her wits, lurched forwards and tripped over the hems of her skirts, straight into the path of Louis of Bohemia's carriage. The horses reared up on their hind legs in fright, making an almighty racket as they did so. Mary sprawled into the sand, ruining her gown and knocking the diadem clean off her head. Susan reached down and dragged her out of the way as the carriage crashed to a halt.

Mary was mortified as she collapsed into Susan's arms. Her legs gave way, and she slipped back to the ground, sitting in the deep snow that was all the deeper here because it had been ploughed to clear the drive way. Tears stung her eyes.

"My life is over," she sobbed.

Susan sat with Mary still in her arms, but was looking at the carriage, over Mary's head. She tried to give Mary a shake, to bring her to her senses because a man had appeared from within.

"He will think me the biggest fool in England!" Mary wailed.

The man stooped to pick the fallen diadem off the floor, and wiped the sand on his velvet jacket.

"Madam," he said. His voice was pure European silk as he paused before the crumpled form of Lady Mary. "This is yours, yes?"

Mary had her face buried in Susan's chest. She froze at the sound of his voice. So much so that Susan suspected her heart had packed in and she'd expired from shame, shock, and grief. But slowly, Mary raised her face once more, and turned to look up at Louis of Bohemia as he stood over her, holding her diadem. He extended one hand, and pulled her slowly to her feet as though she were as light as an autumn leaf.

She stood there silently, her gown skewiff and soaked, her hair a mess, and just looked into his eyes. He smiled. She noticed that he had full lips that she yearned to kiss. He placed the diadem back on her head.

"There," he said. "Now you are perfect again."


	10. Unexpected Arrivals

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot. By way of disclaimer, I'd like to state that I own none of these characters, events, and certainly not the TV show.

Please read and review, thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Unexpected Arrivals. <strong>

Queen Anne had roughly one minute to massage the ache in her neck before her Chamberlain reappeared with a delegation of Scots in tow. She did what she could, before resuming her Queenly poise. Back straight, chin up, arms casually draped over the rests, and an easy smile on her face. She had to look as if she was born to do this, and not making it up as she went along. How many times had she sat at Henry's side and watched him do this? She couldn't even begin to guess at the number. But he made it all look so effortless. His easy charm, his character and life force projected to the rafters of the Presence Chamber. He oozed a masculinity that no man dared to challenge. Something that Anne rather lacked. But then, Henry was born to do this. He never had to make it up as he went along.

She crossed her legs from left to right as the pins and needles started to creep up on her again, and yawned expansively. She had not slept properly since Louis of Bohemia had arrived. Because then came the Scots, and there was still a delegation from Luxembourg to come. Being caught up in a whirlwind was all right, so long as you were at the tranquil centre. But Anne had left that place of safety a long time ago.

Right on time, after one minute exactly, the doors to the Presence Chamber swung wide open to reveal four men all doubled over in deep bows. All Anne could see were the tops of their heads.

"Enter."

Her command was curt and simple. No address yet, but an acknowledgement of their existence within her Chambers. The four men all crept forwards, shuffling uneasily as she had not yet granted them permission to rise and look at her.

"You may speak and state your purpose," Anne said, looking down on the men from the dais.

"Your Majesty, we have come on behalf of Mary, Queen of Scots," one of the men answered. Anne thought it was the one on the far left. "We seek peace between our two nations."

Gardiner should be here, Anne thought to herself. She sighed in irritation, and bid the men to rise. The man on the far left introduced himself as Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus. This man was formerly married to King Henry's sister, Margaret Queen of Scots. Anne smiled upon realising the common link between them. Margaret had been one of the few to support her marriage to King Henry.

"You are welcome to England, and to my Court," Anne said and extended a hand for him to kiss. He did so, with a smile now that the ice had thawed between them. "Please be seated, and present your colleagues."

To Anne's pleasant surprise, the meeting passed off cordially. She never expected the Scots to admit responsibility for the looting that had occurred, and nor did they. But, they were open to signing a new trade treaty, and did not dismiss the idea of a marriage between Prince Arthur and their Queen.

"Of course my husband, King Henry, absolutely must be here before I can go ahead with any marriage, but I will certainly bring him around to the idea of it if you will do the same with Mary's regency Council," Anne had explained. "And the looting absolutely must cease forthwith. The border between England and Scotland will remain unchanged. You will not get Berwick. But you will get our protection, our trade, and our eternal love and friendship."

"What if Scotland wants more? English love and friendship won't keep raiders from our coasts at bay? Nor will it feed our people," Douglas replied.

Anne thought for a moment, weighing him up carefully.

"You understand that if my husband were here, we would not be having this conversation, don't you?" she asked. "Because there would be no talking at all. You would be defending your borders against the English Royal Army. The King of England is a warrior, and you would face almost certain defeat against us."

It was not a threat, and she did not mean it to be so. All the same, it was the truth, and the Scots were in no position to fighting wars. The delegation made no reply, or attempt at justification for their act of aggression. Anne let the silence spiral, before once again offering an olive branch.

"Please, stay with us over Christmas and New Year. We have visitors and all sorts of celebrations planned, and you will be more than welcome to join us," she explained. "It will be the perfect opportunity for us all to become friends, and build new relations between England and Scotland."

That did it. All four of the men beamed brightly, but it was Douglas who spoke for them all.

"We would be honoured, Your Majesty," he replied. "I trust also that we will get to meet the Prince? After all, I must see the boy before I can propose him as a bridegroom for our Queen."

"His Highness the Prince of Wales will be playing a role in all pageants and masques," Anne said. "I am sure you will be as taken with him as all who meet him are." So, she thought to herself, they are interested.

On that optimistic note, the meeting concluded and the Scots delegation were showed to their lodgings within the Palace. The Court was now the busiest that Anne had seen it in her life. Bohemia, Luxembourg, and now Scotland were all being represented on top of the Empire, and the Irish nobility that usually turned up. She wondered now, as she often did, if she had perhaps bitten off more than she could chew.

Alone again, she could relax a little. She leaned back, and let her head rest against the high backed seat she was in. She stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. Almost instantly she could feel herself drifting off into a gentle doze. Anne knew she couldn't, but the knowledge that she still had more work to do made the prospect of sleep even more enticing. To hell with it, she thought to herself as her breathing deepened and her gentle snores began to filter around the Chamber.

"Your Majesty!"

The urgency and pitch of the woman's voice jolted Anne physically from the sleep she had slipped into. She grunted and sat bolt upright as though an invisible hand had slapped her.

"Lady Katherine, what is it?"

Please let it be important, Anne thought to herself, because if it is a missing shoe that has Katherine Howard back in this state, she will die for it. Katherine looked at Anne, her wide eyes ablaze with panic, and out of breath. Her face was flushed red, too, as though she'd run the length of the Palace.

"Your Majesty, Edmund of Luxembourg has arrived," said Katherine, her voice even more panicked, as though the speaking of it had made the emergency all the more real.

"What!" Anne cried as she leapt to her feet. "They are not due for another two days!"

* * *

><p>Mary stood at the heart of a group of her Ladies who'd all crowded into the Great Hall to rehearse their part of the Masque that was planned for Christmas Day. Lady Mary herself was to play the role of Helen of Troy, and one of her suitors would be playing Prince Paris, of that she was certain (although she would not know for sure until the masks were removed on the day, of course). The other, she assumed, would be Theseus, who had to abduct her and hide her away in a special castle that had been built in the palace especially for the occasion. The rescuing "army" would be the rest of the Court, who had to "storm" the castle with their dance, where she would be "rescued" by Prince Paris.<p>

They all stood, draped in half made costumes, seemingly random ribbons and silks, lengths of satin and sarcanet, damask and even cloth of gold for Mary. Over-long skirts pooled at their feet and covered the little dogs who followed them everywhere. On more than one occasion Lady Mary had to stoop and rescue her own spaniel from suffocation among the folds of a heavy velvet cloak. The clamour and chaos filled the vast hall as the woman practised their dances more than their lines of speech, while at the same time, drapers tried to fix the costumes. Those who were standing still chattered incessantly about who was likely to be playing who. Although she said nothing, Mary prayed that Louis of Bohemia would be playing the role of Prince Paris. In a break with tradition, it would be he who rescued Helen from the evil clutches of Theseus. But, as with all masques, almost everyone at Court would have a role, but no one would know who played whom. You had to guess, and that was an essential part of the game.

Trying to bring some order to the pandemonium was William Cornish. He stood on the sidelines, reading aloud from the scripts that he had invested many sleepless nights in. Red faced from exertion, and struggling to make himself over the clamour, he paced the outskirts of the hubbub, and raised his voice a little higher.

"Please, Ladies, this is important," the hapless man bellowed. One or two of the girls politely stopped what they were doing to look at him. Mary still had her head in the clouds. "Once Helen of Troy is secreted away into the Palace, it will be Paris's job to find her. The dancers, meaning all of you, will storm the castle, but only Paris must find Helen, meaning of course, Her Highness the Lady Mary. We must do this properly!"

His imploring fell mostly on deaf ears. He huffed again, and remembered all the other masques he'd arranged in his career. The ladies were always excitable, but this was at fever pitch. Then, to compound matters further, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and shouting voices could be heard clearly adding to the noise that already made his job as director impossible. His patience snapped. He rounded on the imposter.

"Do you mind, my actresses are at an essential stage of preparation-"

But, he stopped himself mid flow as he found himself face to face with Queen Anne, surrounded by her retinue of Ladies.

"Your Majesty," he burst out apologetically. "Forgive me, I did not see you there. But really, we are at a critical moment in the preparations for the masque you ordered-"

Anne's eyes narrowed as she fixed him with a steely look.

"Yes, yes, I am certain it is make or break time, but I must get Lady Mary as a matter of urgency," she replied.

"Your Grace, is any thing wrong?" Mary had heard the commotion and come running over, still wrapped in her half-made costume. The pins were falling out, and the fabrics hanging loose from her arms, rendering it completely shapeless.

"Lady Mary, do not panic, but Edmund of Luxembourg has arrived two days earlier than expected," Anne explained as she turned her back on an increasingly mutinous William Cornish.

"Oh! Good heavens!" Mary cried as she almost fainted with shock. Susan Clarencieux reacted quickly as she moved to catch her. "Quickly, my gown. We must be there to greet him properly!"

"How long do we have, Your Majesty?" Susan asked, the only one making an effort to keep calm.

"An hour, no more!" Anne said with a sad shake of her head. She turned to Katherine Howard who was among her ladies. "Work your magic, Lady Katherine."

"But, what about my rehearsals!" Cornish was scandalised now. "We'll never be ready," he groaned as they all hurried from the room as if it were on fire. All Mary could do was cast an apologetic look from over her shoulder as she jogged in Queen Anne's wake back to the Royal apartments.

* * *

><p>Edmund of Luxembourg sat in the carriage silent and motionless, and let himself be jolted this way and that as they rolled over the English countryside. Sandwiched between his two elder brothers, he could not even see out of the window properly to get an impression of this new country he had found himself if.<p>

He was the youngest of his families three boys, the smallest, the thinnest, and the least athletic. He attracted the least attention, but whenever he went out among his father's people, it was he who the whores threw themselves at, much to his horror.

"Its' because you're the prettiest," his eldest brother, Philip, would snort. "And the runtiest. They like a challenge, and they want to turn you into a proper man."

So, proper men sleep with whores and tease their younger brothers. Edmund's heart would sink whenever he thought about the criteria of manliness that he singularly failed to meet. When he was first told of his trip to England to meet the famous Princess Mary, his hopes had soared for the first time in his life. A chink of light had appeared, and freedom from his brothers' and father was at last within his grasp. But then his father informed him that both Philip and Otto would be accompanying him, his hopes were crushed and burned like a moth that got too close to the flame.

Now, he was faced with the prospect of the festive season spent being ritually humiliated in front of Mary, who's beauty, learning, and piety was openly talked of in Europe. His brothers would make the wittiest remarks, win the most jousts, and Mary would be rushing down the aisle with one of them. Probably Philip, he thought glumly to himself. She would probably be so smitten with Philip that he and she would elope, and he, Edmund, would be remembered only for coming to England and causing a terrible scandal that caused their two great nations to go to war against each other. He almost wept.

"That must be the Tower, Otto."

Philip's voice (still using German) intruded on Edmund's thoughts, and even though he had not been addressed, he turned to look out of the small window. A large grey edifice rose above them, and made Edmund shudder.

"You scared, Ed?" Otto spoke now, looking down at his brother. "You are such a maid!"

"Is the Queen ready for us?" Edmund asked, changing the subject and dropping his head to hide the flush in his face. "We are too early."

"Oh stop worrying!" snapped Philip as he landed a thump on Edmund's upper arm. "You'll make yourself sick again, like you were all over that boat, and then where will be? Eh?"

Otto let out a bark of laughter, and Edmund groaned inwardly. It had been his first boat trip, and he'd vomited from start to finish. He knew that his brothers' would take every opportunity to remind him of his journey.

"Never mind, Ed. On the way back I'll hold your hair back for you," Otto said as he threw an arm around Edmund's shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

"You are all heart," Edmund sighed.

Somewhere deep under all that bluster, he knew his brothers' loved him. They just had a funny way of showing it. They didn't seem to realise how their teasing affected Edmund, and Edmund would never relent and tell them. He had to look stronger then them in at least one respect. But, when Windsor Castle finally rolled into view, he sighed deeply with relief. Finally, he would be able to get out of Philip and Otto's pockets.

"Would you look at that," said Philip, continuing his commentary of the sights of London. "These English sure know how to build their Castles and Cathedrals."

"That reminds me, have either of you bothered to learn any English?" Otto asked. He looked at each brother in turn, and saw the blank looks on their faces. "Well, looks like I am translating as usual."

It wasn't that Edmund didn't want to learn. But one by-product of being the youngest was that not too much money was wasted on his education. They half expected him to simply vanish into a monastery, but even that option had been taken from him by the movement for Reform. Since leaving his homeland, he had practised what little he had picked up from English merchants on the road. He knew how to ask what weight a yarn is, what breed of sheep it came from, and he knew how to ask for directions to the nearest market. What he didn't know was, was how far any of that would get him with a Princess.

Finally, they came to a halt and the door of their carriage was swung open by a footman in red Tudor livery. The red and white Tudor rose was emblazoned on the front of his tunic. A symbol of England united and free. They looked past them to see the English Royal family already lined up, looking flushed in the face and breathless. They had no idea of who was who, though.

"Step this way please, Gentlemen," the footman said. "This is Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, and he will present you to our Queen, and the royal children now."

Thomas Cranmer, a tall and authoritative man appeared dressed in full ceremonial robes as Archbishop of Canterbury. To their intense relief, he addressed them in perfect German, a place that the Archbishop had undertaken many embassies to. He led them over to where Queen Anne, Princess Elizabeth, Princes William and Arthur, and Lady Mary were lined up before their expansive retinues.

Edmund watched as an older woman with dark, enticing eyes stepped forwards. Her black hair was streaked with silver grey, but her eyes glittered darkly and drew him in. This must be the midnight crow that the Ambassadors all spoke of. He could see what they meant, but he meant no insult to her.

He bowed deeply as Cranmer introduced him to the Queen of England. He kissed her hand, as was proper, and managed to falteringly greet her in English.

"Your Majesty," he said, blushing to the roots of his hair. "My brothers and I thank you for your gracious invites to your Castle."

"You are very welcome to England, my lord," Anne replied as she let him take her arm, and started walking over to where the children were lined up. "I must apologise for your poor reception today, we had not expected you for another day or two."

Edmund caught little of what was being said, but he could guess it was to do with their unexpected arrival. He wanted desperately to apologise, but he did not know how to. He tried, instead, to convey it in his expression. One of acute embarrassment. Anne merely gave him an understanding smile.

"May I introduce you to my eldest son, His Highness the Prince of Wales, Arthur, duke of Chester and earl of Richmond," Anne said as she gestured with her free arm to a splendidly attired young boy of about eleven years. His auburn hair was exactly as Edmund imagined King Henry's to be.

"This," Anne continued. "Is my youngest son, Prince William, duke of York, and earl of Cambridge."

This boy was dark like his mother. Dark hair that curled, and darker eyes that drew the attention. He bowed like his brother had, and greeted Edmund in well practised German. Something which shamed his English efforts even further.

"This is my daughter, Princess Elizabeth," Anne gestured to a tall girl, who was older than the two boys. She had been left until now because despite their ages, the boys ranked above her. She was slender, and also had her mother's dark eyes. But her hair was red. Flame red, and fell in great waves down her back. Her skin was white, and she held herself with poise and dignity that would shame the greatest Queens in Europe. To Edmund's amazement, Elizabeth not only greeted him in German, but asked after his health, his family, and his journey in German.

Where he came from, such outward displays of education in women were practically punished. But Queen Anne, he saw, was beaming from ear to ear. She was encouraging it! He could feel himself falling in love with England, and English people, and most of all, English mannerisms.

"Finally," Anne said as she moved him a step further down the line to where another woman, veiled, stood last in line. "This is Lady Mary Tudor. Please, lift the veil and greet her."

He failed to understand, but Anne motioned what to do, and he finally understood. He trembled as he lifted the fine muslin veil to reveal a girl with porcelain skin. Her face was cast downwards, but when he tilted her chin up, he could see she had bright, sparkling sapphire eyes. Her hair was dark, her veil held in place by a priceless bejewelled diadem. She curtseyed deeply.

"Your Grace," she greeted him, and a small smile played on her rosebud lips.

Her beauty knocked the breath out of his lungs. He flushed even deeper than before and his mind whirled in a panic. His poor English completely deserted him, but for the desperation of saying something, anything to fill the terrible silence, he tripped over his words.

"Sheep," he spluttered the first English word that popped into his head. "Markets." He added lamely.

Anne frowned quizzically, and Lady Mary had to stifle laughter that was welling up and threatening to burst out of her. Something heavy knocked him aside, and Otto appeared suddenly at his side.

"Your highness forgive my brother," he explained giving Edmund a playful dig in the ribs. "What he is trying to say is, he is overwhelmed and delighted to finally be in your presence. We all thank you for your great generosity and warm welcome."

Mary smiled graciously and let both men kiss her hand. She could sense Edmund cringing after making such a fool of himself. His blue eyes were sad, his face downcast. He was the most handsome boy she'd ever seen. But for his half-witted behaviour!

Once they were all inside, the Luxembourg retinue were escorted to their chambers. The three foreign nations had arrived. The Court was full to the rafters, and it was the day before Christmas. As Lady Mary watched the hapless Edmund getting a German ribbing from his brothers all down the gallery, she couldn't help but feel that the fun was about to begin.


	11. The Man In The Masque

**Author's Note:** Thank you, as always, to those who have read and reviewed this story. Your input and feedback means a lot to me, so thank you. By way of disclaimer, I'd like to reiterate that I own none of the characters, events, and certainly not the TV show.

Finally, please read and enjoy; and reviews are very much appreciated. Thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: The Man In The Masque.<strong>

Edmund held the script in his trembling hands, and turned to look out of the window of his lodgings within the Palace. The stables. From his vantage point he could see the arse of every horse in London, or so he thought. Beyond the horse infested stables and empty carriages, the landscape rolled away under a blanket of pure white snow that glittered in the pale white sunlight. He let his head droop against the window frame as he considered his dilemma. The masque was that evening, and thought of it made him want to be sick with fear. Dancing and acting in front of a Court full of strangers was something altogether new to him.

Behind him, Philip and Otto were polishing their armour, getting ready for the Christmas jousts, talking in rapid German about English women. Edmund cast a weary eye over his shoulder, grateful at least that they were settling in and making themselves at home. But he dreaded to think what their English hosts would make of their antics. Just as they lapsed into a silence, Edmund looked away again, but it was too late. Philip had seen him looking, and now he was back under their glare.

"Are the stables on fire?" Philip called across the room. "I cannot imagine what else would have you so captivated by our wonderful view!"

With a small groan, Edmund turned to look back at his brothers. "It is the masque," he said, holding up the script. "They want me to play Theseus."

"So, you have to kidnap Helen of Troy, and run away with her into the sunset?"

Edmund looked despondent. "Yes."

"Well, just throw a bag over her head and sling her over your shoulder," Otto answered with a shrug. "It is really not hard, Ed."

"In front of everyone?" Edmund asked, giving his brothers a piteous look of desperation. "You know I'll drop her. I might even knock her out, or kill her!"

"Now you're just being stupid," Philip snapped impatiently before turning his attention back to his armour. "Even you can pretend to kidnap a Princess who is fully expecting what is coming."

"What about the dance?" Edmund asked, his face crumpled in despair. He needed their help more than ever, but they seemed as determined to run him down as ever.

"Yes, your dancing might kill her," Otto said, helpfully, brandishing his beeswax polish. "Or at least maim her for life. Shame really. She is a pretty girl."

"Oh shut up!" Edmund snapped as Philip let out a snort of derisive laughter.

It was too late. The pair of them were on a roll and unwilling to drop the subject and just help him with his role in the masque. Unable to bear it any longer, Edmund strode across the room and out of the door. He could hear both Otto and Philip calling him back, but now that he was out from under the scrutiny of his father, he felt he could disobey his brothers at will. It was a luxurious freedom he'd never had the opportunity to exercise before.

Still in a fit of temper, he followed his nose through the Palace passageways and galleries, letting himself be buffered along by the hordes of Courtiers. All the while, he listened to the sound of the alien voices as he went. The rolling, lilting, English accents that surrounded him. He noticed the differences in dress, and mannerisms. All around him were the symbols of the infamous English chivalry. The devices, lovers knots, and heraldry that was famed through the whole of Europe. As soon as he was bustled into the Great Hall, he saw something that made his heart leap into his throat. Mounted on the wall at the far end of the Hall, where the King and Queen sat, was the round table itself. Built by order of Edward III, the most famous of English Kings, to imitate that of King Arthur.

The Great Hall offered little in the way of relief, though. All around him in there were the signs of the last minute preparations to that evenings' masque. Although the Hall was busy, he came to stand in the centre, and looked around him. The place was cavernous, and even had galleries in an atrium style that looked down on the Hall. He would be watched from every angle, and the thought of it made his stomach flip horribly.

He could feel his throat closing over painfully, and began struggling for air. He turned and bolted from the crowded halls, and straight into an approaching gentlemen dressed in immaculate furs and velvet. He tripped over mumbled German apologies, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by the man's scolding, and flinched like he'd been slapped.

"Will you watch where you are going?" the man snapped angrily, but then quickly did a double take, hearing Edmund's foreign tongue. "Forgive me, Your Grace, you must be one of our German guests?"

Still trembling, more so after the man had reminded Edmund forcefully of his own father, he held out a hand that shook like an autumn leaf.

"Edmund of Luxembourg at your service, my lord," he managed to stammer in broken English. "I think I have become … if you understand me... misplaced."

The man towered over Edmund, but looked down at him kindly enough to set him at his ease. The man's blue eyes glittered pleasantly in the bright torchlight of the Hall, and he threw an arm around Edmund's shoulders.

"You mean you're lost," he replied gently, and certainly not mockingly. "Come with me, and I'll get you back to where you're meant to be."

Edmund breathed a sigh of relief as he was led through the Great Hall. The impending dance weighed more heavily on his mind once he had seen the venue, and sheer size and scale of the spectacle. But for now, after his panic attack, he was grateful for the freedom to breathe.

"You're trembling," the man observed once they were in a less crowded spot. "Are you always this nervous?"

Edmund looked up at the man, struggled for the correct English words, and gave up. Instead, he tried to arrange his face into an expression of a dog waiting to drown.

"Dancing," he eventually said, and drew a finger across his throat, imitating an axeman. "I will be dead. This evening. Here." He held out the script which the man took.

"Oh dear, you're one of the leads, too," the man answered with a sad shake of the head. "Lady Mary is our Helen of Troy. Your rival, Louis of Bohemia, is Prince Paris. You know that, don't you?"

"I had guessed," Edmund replied sadly. People were not supposed to know who was who, but nothing was a secret in any Royal Court.

"What you need is a drink, my friend."

* * *

><p>Mary smoothed down the front of her costume while Susan arranged her jewelled headdress. The skirts were of fine silk, cream in colour to avoid making her skin look washed out, and edged with gold. The sleeves were gathered at the elbow, but hung loose down her forearms to accentuate their length and grace. Her bodices were fasted close, nipping in her waist enough to fit her hands right around. Her hair was loose beneath the intricate headdress, and laced with jewels that winked and sparkled in the light.<p>

"This will be all right, won't it?" Mary asked as she turned around, checking from all angles.

"You look beautiful, Your Grace," Susan replied smiling.

"Radiant," Queen Anne chipped in from her place by the fire. She, too, would be playing a part in the masque. But her days of taking the lead were long behind her, and would be content to simply dance with one of her ladies.

"Thank you, both of you," Mary beamed.

All of the ladies wore similar gowns of cream and gold. They would be acting the part of Helen's retinue, stunned by her sudden abduction. Satisfied that all was as it should be, Mary turned her attention to the necklace that she would wear. Something understated to emphasise her slender neck, and not too overpowering for the delicate gown she wore. Susan picked out a rope of pearls and diamonds, offset by a great ruby at the centre.

"Here," said Susan, holding it up for Mary to inspect. "This will be perfect."

Mary grinned and nodded her assent. Then, a final touch was added as Queen Anne suggested a fine silk scarf to drape over her shoulders, for added warmth as much as adding finesse to the costume.

Within hours they would all be taking their places for the masque. They had been practising all day, perfecting their steps as they conjecturing about their ideal dance partners. All the while, Mary's nerves had fluttered, making her face flush red and her heart to palpitate.

The activity was frenetic. People coming and going at all hours, every day of the week. Now, Lady Mary Lascelles was dropping into a curtsey in Mary's doorway, ready to announce the latest visitor. "Louis of Bohemia has come to pay Court, Your Grace."

Lady Lascelles struggled to make herself heard over the noise in the room, but everyone fell silent when they heard what she had said. All the women froze mid-action, as though somewhere a switch had been flicked. Finally, Mary gathered her wits and Anne moved closer to her step-daughter, ready to play chaperone.

"Show him in, please," Mary replied, fighting to keep her breathing under control.

Lascelles complied at once, and ushered Mary's suitor into the chamber, not so much as batting an eyelid as the gaze of almost thirty different women fell on him at once. He swept a gallant bow, and kissed the back of Mary's hand, and made her heart flutter all over again.

"I pray you forgive this intrusion upon your precious time, my lady," he said, his voice heavy with an accent that rolled smoothly off the tongue. "But, I have a gift for you."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the women as he spoke of gifts, and Mary blushed deeply, stifling a coy giggle. Louis, meanwhile, gestured to one of his servants, who stepped forwards bearing a small, intricately decorated, casket. The delicate gold catch was opened, and the lid lifted to reveal an ornately crafted set of pearl earrings.

"They're beautiful, Your Grace, thank you," Mary sighed as she looked down at them, where they soaked up the light of the room. "Now please, we are quite finished with our preparations for the masque. You're welcome to come and sit with us before we leave."

Louis smiled as he took up Mary's offer. These meetings would clinch the deal between them, and Louis was keen to seize the initiative before his rival could make up for lost time. Louis had been further emboldened by the news of Edmund's disastrous introduction. All in all, he rated his chances of success highly; but was not about to succumb to complacency.

"I hear the Luxembourg child made quite an impression upon Your Grace," he remarked casually. He reached across the table, and covered Mary's hand with his own. A gesture that provoked Queen Anne to noisily clear her throat and remind them of her presence in the Chamber.

"He is hardly a child," Mary replied, laughing. She withdrew her hand, too. She had never before had such close contact with a man, and was rather glad of Queen Anne's supervision, no matter how put out Louis looked. "But he was rather... awkward."

"You know, your father must truly be the greatest King in Christendom," Louis sighed, gazing down at Mary's recently withdrawn hand. "For how else could he have created a Princess like you?"

Queen Anne rolled her eyes, and Jane Parker had to leave the room before she burst out laughing. Both women had been at Court long enough to have heard every line ever written by men who think they're romantic. But this was new, even to them. Mary, for her part, blushed even deeper and found herself completely lost for words.

Satisfied he had made an impression, Louis kissed Mary's hand one final time. "I must prepare for the masque now, my amour," he said. "Get some rest before the dance, you'll be needing it."

Mary and the Ladies watched him leave, torn between amusement and wonder.

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Anne broke the silence. Inwardly, she prayed Edmund of Luxembourg would do a lot better. He has probably gone to practise his lines on the rest of the women at Court, she thought to herself.

* * *

><p>Edmund squinted, struggling to keep the pewter goblet in front of his face in focus. It's edges blurred and swam before his eyes as the strong wine made his head spin. While he spilled out his fears and insecurities in broken English, the strong Italian wine had flowed freely; and they'd been at it for several hours. Every time his voice faltered, a hand would appear and fill up his goblet yet again. He'd made feeble efforts to protest, and cover his goblet, but his host insisted. Besides, his host informed Edmund that he was a Marquis, and it was always best not to offend them by refusing their hospitality. The further he slipped into a drunken haze, the harder it became to say no.<p>

Edmund slumped across the table, and buried his face his arms. "I do not know any dances," he moaned into his forearms. The sudden movement caused his head to spin faster, and his stomach lurched ominously.

"That's the least of your worries now, Your Grace," a woman's voice said. "Henry look at the state of him, now!"

"Oh stop fretting, Frances," the man retorted, shooting her a condescending look before turning back to Edmund who was now losing consciousness. "Here son, get the rest of that wine down you, then you can sleep it off before the masque starts. Our servant will wake you in time."

"It starts in half an hour, Henry," the woman put in, but no one seemed to take any notice of her. Least of all Edmund who downed the rest of his wine, and realised too late that it was a drink too far. He pushed himself back from the table, and vomited violently into the fresh scented rushes that lined the floor.

"Oh dear," the man boomed jovially over the woman's heavy cursing. "Come on son, let's get you off to bed."

Edmund had never known a man take such care of him. His father, had he been here, would have whipped him through the Palace and back again by now. His brothers would have thrown him to the dogs. He wanted to tell the man, who's name he had clean forgotten yet again, but his words failed him; this time due to the wine rather than a language barrier. Gladly, he let himself be led away, half-carried as his legs could no longer support his weight, to an ante chamber.

Once there, he was dropped onto a bed with a feather mattress that he sank into gratefully. Despite his furiously spinning head, he slipped easily into a deep, dark, sleep.

* * *

><p>"Now what?" Frances Brandon rounded on her husband as he emerged, sick stained, from the ante-chamber of their private apartments. Her eyes were ablaze with anger as she snapped at the servants to get the mess cleaned up before the girls arrived back from their cousin's chambers.<p>

Henry didn't seem at all phased. "Be ready to meet me outside the Palace about one hour after the masque starts," he instructed her. "Have the carriage harnessed, and ready to go. We'll need to be out of here fast."

"Why?" Frances fixed him with a hard look.

"Well, he can't kidnap a Princess can he," he jerked his head towards the chamber from where Edmund's gentle snores could now be heard drifting across the room. "Looks like I'll have to do it instead!"

"Are you insane?"

"It's a masque, Frances. Everyone expects him to be playing Theseus, and no one will be able to see through the damn costume. I'll make sure no one guesses, too. Just be ready when I say, and do as I say."

Frances looked far from happy, despite it being the best opportunity to fulfil their promise to Stephen Gardiner. "All right," she finally said. "You better get going. We're both supposed to be there anyway, but just in case any asks, put out word that I am ill. I'll get Gardiner. We're all in this together, after all."

"That's more like it," Henry bent down and kissed her cheek. Frances tried to raise a smile. But Henry turned and darted from the room before she could have the chance to ask for more clarity. As she listened to the echo of his footsteps receding down the outer gallery, she merely resolved to do as he commanded, and deny all knowledge of it should he be rumbled. With one final glance over her shoulder, to where Edmund of Luxembourg slept on, oblivious to what he had done, she ordered the servants not to wake him, and left to fetch Stephen Gardiner.

* * *

><p>It was show time. Lady Mary, Princess Elizabeth, and Queen Anne all lined up along the ramparts of the make shift castle that had been erected at the far end of the Great Hall. They were dressed in almost identical costumes, with elaborate masks to conceal their faces. Mary was in the middle, tense and nervous behind her mask, which was lined with a rich plume of ostrich feathers. Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes, her eyes roving the Great Hall, searching for some one in particular as the crowds of masked Courtiers filed slowly into the room.<p>

"I think Bess is looking for a certain Lord Robert," Mary whispered under her breath, a giggle disguising her prickling nerves.

"Mary!" Elizabeth hissed, but fell back into line at the balcony all the same.

"Are you two ready, we're almost ready to begin," Anne whispered back, pointedly ignoring Mary's teasing about Robert Dudley. That boy was most unsuitable for a Princess.

Mary's heart thumped against her ribs, and her nerves flowed into dizzy anticipation as the Courtiers lined up for the abduction dance. "I am ready," she replied.

The musicians struck up the first notes, and the air of the Great Hall was soon filled with the sound of music. A knot of heavily disguised Ladies and Gentlemen formed around one man in the masque. That was Theseus, being secreted up to the "castle" in which Helen of Troy was waiting. Already, the "forces" of Prince Paris were forming up at the back of the Hall, ready to launch the rescue once Mary had been rushed by her captor into the outer galleries.

Just as the music reached a crescendo, the knot of Courtiers suddenly opened into a rapturous dance to reveal Theseus at their heart. He leapt up onto the castle set, prompting Elizabeth and Queen Anne act out attempts to try and stop him seizing Mary. He engaged them in a playful dance, as Mary made to flee the balcony. The crowds all cried out to her, warning her that Theseus was behind her, but of course it was all too late.

Theseus' strong arms circled Mary's narrow waist and he lifted her as though she were as light as a feather. Anne and Bess called out in mock fear, swooning dramatically as their "Helen of Troy" was borne away in the arms of her abductor. Lady Mary lay limp in his arms, pretending to have fainted, and let herself be whisked through the dancing crowds.

As soon as they were out of the doors, Queen Anne and Princess Elizabeth led the dance that was to signify the rallying of the troops. The music began all over again, and the couples danced and swayed in time to the wavering notes that filled the Hall to the rafters.

"I think we have gone far enough," Mary laughed as she tried to squirm free of the man's grip. "We should wait here or they'll never find us!"

But the man held her fast in his arms and carried on running with her down the passageways beyond the Great Hall. The music receded rapidly into the distance as they got further and further away. Then, her mask slipped and Mary could no longer even see which way the man was carrying her, or how far they had come.

"Lets' not make it too easy for them," the man replied shortly, puffing with the exertion.

"Wait," she commanded. "Who is this?"

She had expected Theseus to be played by either Louis or Edmund, but this man was English. His voice was familiar, but she could not place it, and in her panic and struggle to get her mask back on, it was even harder to place.

"Can't you guess, Lady Mary?"

The next moment, Mary could hear doors being kicked open and she felt a rush of freezing cold air hit her. They were outside. The stench of the stables was over-powering. Mary knew that this was definitely not part of the masque, and began lashing out with her fists and feet, trying to fight herself free of the man's grip.

"I command you let me down this instant," she cried out in pain as the man squeezed her all the tighter before dumping her on the ground in the snow. "Who do you think you are?"

The man, still unrecognisable in his costume and mask, clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Frances!" he called out. "Frances bring that carriage over, and some twine. We'll need to have her immobilised."

Mary froze in bewilderment and horror as her own cousin, Frances Brandon, appeared from around the corner of the Palace. The two women's eyes locked, and the scream in Mary's throat was choked back by Henry Grey's hand still clamped over her mouth. After a moment of utter incomprehension, Mary frantically attempted to prise Henry's hand away from her mouth. She lashed out with her legs again, but succeeded only in losing a shoe and ripping her gown.

Despite the cold, her struggles brought her out in a sweat as she fought hard against her captors as they pinned her to the ground and gagged her with her own silk scarf before she could even draw breath. She wanted to scream and shout, to bring out the whole Palace; and realising that no one would hear her brought down a wave of crashing despair over her. Everyone was in the hall, dancing to the music. Not one of them would hear her screams for help, even if she could make a noise that was above a muffled whimper.

"For fuck's sake, woman, get her hands tied fast will you!" Henry sounded irate now, as Frances seemed to dither with the twine as though the success of their plan had thrown and scattered her resolve to the four winds. Mary could see her hands were shaking, and fumbling with the twine, getting it all tangled up.

"Here, allow me," a third voice spoke. A voice that made Mary's blood turn to ice in her veins. If she rolled her eyes far to the left from where she lay, still pinned to the ground, she could just see Stephen Gardiner looming over her. A long purple role was wound around his hands, and as he knelt at her side, he wrapped it tight around her hands, binding her fast. She dragged to her feet by Henry Grey, and hauled across the cobblestones to where a carriage lay waiting for them. She was unceremoniously bundled into the back, and Frances, Henry and Gardiner all climbed in after her.

"Go now!" Henry bellowed out to their servant who was at the helm of the carriage. "Godspeed!"

Only once the carriage was in motion did Henry finally remove his mask. He opened the door and threw it out into woods as they passed through the gates, and out into the darkening city of London. Theirs' would be one carriage among many that trundled through the city streets, and Mary knew that no one would pay it the blindest bit of attention.


	12. Echoes And Shadows

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot. Just to clear the legalities, I'd like to reiterate that I own none of this characters, events, or the TV Show.

Thanks again for reading, and please review!

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Echoes and Shadows.<strong>

The music in the Great Hall died away, the note wavering and fading into the rapturous applause that swelled in its place as the dancers wound to a halt. Out of breath and flushed in the face, Queen Anne leant against an equally breathless Jane Parker, with whom she had been dancing. Everyone around them was doing the same. Catching their breath before the next dance to rescue the abducted Helen of Troy from the clutches of Theseus, somewhere deep within the Palace. Anne looked around at them all. Once there was a time when they would have been dancing and dancing all night long.

"We're getting too old for this," she panted as she and Jane linked arms ready for the advance into the Palace to begin.

"Nonsense!" Jane retorted with a laugh, "We're only just beginning!"

They exchanged a look, and burst into fits of laughter. Behind them, the rest of the dancers, all cloaked and masked, began to form up. In front of them, Louis of Bohemia, flanked by the two Princes, William and Arthur, took the lead, ready for the next dance.

As the dancers settled down again, there was moment of tense expectation. The moment drew itself out, before a loud bang could be heard from over-head, and the air was filled with tumbling scraps of gold leaf painted paper falling, shimmering and glittering, through the air. It was the signal for the "invasion" to begin.

"Ready Jane?" Anne asked just as the music swelled once more.

"Do you even have to ask?"

With that, the boys led the charge through the doors of the Great Hall. Like a great sparkling parade, they all burst into the Palace seeking Theseus and Helen. The outer galleries were empty, but they didn't expect their elaborate game of hide and seek to be that easy. They wound their way through the Galleries and passageways, hunting high and low for their quarry.

Every room they entered was deserted. There were few signs of life, beyond the guards who were guarding the King's empty chambers, and the Council rooms. One or two of the others, Elizabeth included, had started calling out to Mary, but no answer came. All there was were echoes and shadows.

"Where on earth are they?" Anne laughed, delighted at how successful her masque had been.

"He's hidden her well, hasn't he?" Jane replied. "Which one was it? Louis or Edmund?"

"You know I can't tell you that!" Anne said as they careered down one the Galleries to the private quarters. "Oh all right then, it's Edmund."

"He's probably hidden her in the sheep markets, then!" Jane joked, remembered Edmund's first words to Lady Mary. "We might need to search the Cheapside!"

"Now that's mean!" Anne said, shooting her a mockingly reproving look. "But seriously, where has he taken her?"

* * *

><p>Mary couldn't move. She was cramped and curled on the floor of the carriage that bore her to God alone knows where. She knew better than to hope that Frances was taking her back to Bradgate, as that would be too obvious. She had heard Frances tell Henry that their daughters had been sent ahead to another house, and would join them shortly. So, where ever she was destined, it was not to the same place as the girls. Mary knew London and the surrounding countryside like the back of her hand, but anything beyond that, she would have little chance of finding her way home again. Then, it occurred to her that she had almost zero chances of escape, anyway.<p>

The feeling in her wrists and legs had long since gone, but every jolt and bump in the road they travelled sent shock waves of pain pulsating through her whole body. Gagged so tightly that she could barely breathe, crying out in fear or pain was not an option. So there she lay, helpless like an insect caught in a web, the twine and binds getting tighter the more she struggled.

But, she did not cry. She refused to let her fear show in front of her captors. Instead. She forced her mind into a semblance of calm, and breathed deeply and steadily through her nose. She soon noticed that if she turned her eyes to the right, she could see through a crack in the door. The only view she had were streets, hedgerows and roadside verges rushing past in a rapidly darkening blur. But it was something, and she focussed all of her mind, and all of her will power on that while her captors squabbled amongst themselves.

"You'll perform the marriage as soon as we get to this chapel, Gardiner. That is what we agreed," Frances said. "We keep her alive until you have performed your end of the bargain."

"You seem to be under the impression that I am backing out, my lady?"

"No, Gardiner. This is just a friendly reminder. You marry Guildford and my Jane," Frances replied. "Then once we hear back from Northumberland about the death of King Henry, we can set our plan in motion."

Mary's mind whirled at the mention of the death of the King. It was the final straw, and tears stung her eyes, but she was now too weary to struggle. She fixed her gaze on the gap, still channelling all her energy into that.

"How do you know that will work?" Gardiner asked. "If the King returns, which he could at any minute, there will be hell to pay."

Henry Grey laughed. "You don't know, do you?" he asked. "Northumberland is a man of craftily disguised genius. He has been treating the King's leg wounds with a new poultice, laced with hemlock and arsenic. The King grows weaker by the day, and they're blaming it on the war efforts."

"The combination of Hemlock and arsenic is deadly. The King is dying in stages …" Frances began explaining, but Mary couldn't process any more. She clamped her teeth down hard on the gag, to try and give vent to the screams that were trapped inside her. The tears coursed down her face and she couldn't stop the choking gulps as she fought to regain control of herself.

All her life she had been in control. There were times when she thought that she had had no control. When she was serving Princess Elizabeth at Hatfield had been one such time. But lying, bound, gagged, and utterly helpless in a carriage while her father was slowly assassinated in a French battlefield was the true definition of utter helplessness.

For the sake of her own self-preservation, she turned back to the gap in the door. She kept on looking at the hedgerows trundling by, and somewhere deep inside, she converted her helplessness into hatred, and anger. When they stopped, her anger would turn to action. Just as Gardiner was so keen to tell her only a few months ago, Mary was her mother's daughter, and Catherine of Aragon lived on in her. You will all pay, she thought to herself, with added interest.

* * *

><p>The cool breeze tickled Edmund's cheek. Just a cold patch that tingled over the cheekbone beneath his left eye. That was the first thing he became aware of. He grunted and rolled over on to his other side without opening his eyes. But as soon as he did so, a white hot pain seared across his head, blazing a trail across his scalp, before diffusing into a pounding headache behind his eyes and at his temples. His stomach churned violently, and with a groan he hauled himself back into full consciousness. He leaned across the bed and vomited copiously into the rushes that lined the floor of the unfamiliar chamber.<p>

He wiped his hand unceremoniously with the back of his hand and straightened himself out on the bed. His breathing was ragged, his head pounding, and he was utterly bewildered. He looked up at the ceiling, mapping the cracks in the plaster while trying to search back through the haze of his memory for any clue as to how he got where he came to be. All there were just stretches of black emptiness that blinded his mind's eye.

Reluctantly, he rolled off the mattress, feeling the strain and tension in every sinew as he did so. He realised that he was fully dressed, and only his boots had been removed. They had been casually tossed into a corner, where a sleeping grey hound now dozed feebly on them. He hadn't noticed the animal before, and did not see fit to pay him much attention as he reached over and pulled the boots out from under him. The dog awoke and growled, making Edmund's head pound afresh.

"Bad dog," he groaned dropping his head in his heads to knead at the throbbing pain. The dog looked back at him quizzically.

Boots finally on after an epic struggle, Edmund climbed wearily to his feet. Every part of him ached and his head span, making him nauseous all over again. This time, he made it to a small basin that was set up in a corner of the room, near to where the dog was still curled up, and dozing back into a fitful sleep, only be disturbed again by Edmund's choking heaves. Once finished, he was left feeling weak and washed out, like something spat out of the sea after a storm. His mouth tasted like something small and furry had died in it.

Steadying himself against the basin, he took his first proper look around the Chamber he'd found himself in. There was another room, in which a faint, flickering glow was emanating. A low burning fire, barely more than embers glowing in the hearth, was the only source of light. Beyond the rush of the blood in his ears, and the dogs wheezy breaths, there was an oppressive silence.

After taking a moment to get his balance back, Edmund took a cautious step into the main room, preparing himself to meet the owners, who he guessed had also passed out drunk with him. The last thing he remembered was talking to a man, but the name and the face had been washed out of his mind by the flood of alcohol a long time before he woke up. But as he squinted through the dull light, he could see no one. He looked from the door to the mess in the ante-chamber, and wrestled with his conscience. He wanted to clean up after himself, but there wasn't so much as a cloth to be seen that didn't look like it cost more than a year's sum of his allowance.

There was something else nagging faintly at the back of his mind. Something was wrong, and he could feel it in every fibre of his being. Deciding to leave immediately, he padded softly across the room and headed for the exit. The dog got up and followed him, his claws scratching across the wooden floorboards; but Edmund ignored him. He eased the door open, wincing against the screech of hinges that seemed amplified and reverberated around his head like a shout in the mountains.

He gasped as the pain died away, and tried to shut the door, but the dog began to bark loudly.

"Ssh!" Edmund hissed in a panic, fearing the noise would bring out the guards. But the dog would not let up. In the end, Edmund relented, and let the dog trot after him as he made his way through the Palace, trying to find his way back home again.

"Where is everyone?" he asked the dog in English, as though that would help get a reply.

There was not a soul to be seen anywhere. As he passed down one passageway, he could make out the sound of raised voices. He thought that he could hear music, too. But the sounds were distant, carried over to him only in waves. Wishing more than anything to avoid crowds, Edmund ducked down another gallery, well away from the sound of approaching footsteps, and hastened towards the first door he saw. To his mild irritation, the grey hound was still following him. As the two of them rounded a corner, the dog began to get agitated, and hurried on ahead.

"I am not taking you for a walk!" Edmund informed the beast as it stopped to make sure he was keeping up. He wagged his tail madly, his eyes shining expectantly.

Eventually, they came to another door that Edmund at least recognised. It led out on to the forecourt where he had first arrived at the palace just a few days before. The dog began scratching at it, whining to be let out into the open. "Very well," he sighed. He needed the air, anyway. He knew that once he was back with his brothers, Otto and Philip, there would be hell to pay for the condition he had gotten himself into. Anything that delayed that unhappy meeting was fine by him.

So through the double doors, he and his new friend slipped out into the night so bitterly cold that it hit him like a slap in the face. But once outside, he could breathe easily. He gulped in great lungfuls of clean air, and let it smother the aches and pains that tormented him. He even found the energy to throw a stick to the dog, who relished his unexpected freedom with relish.

Together the two of them walked the edge of the Palace gardens under the expanse of the night sky. He paid no attention to where they were going, but he found himself drifting towards the stables. It was the only part of the Palace he could recognise, as his chambers overlooked them, It was there that the memory dropped into his mind like a stone down a well.

He froze in his tracks as he looked out over the stables. It was the masque. That was the music he had heard, and the tramping of feet in the distance. It was the reason why the Palace was deserted. Everyone was at the masque, the same masque that he was supposed to be taking a lead role in. What slim hope he had of his disgraceful behaviour going unnoticed vanished in a haze.

With a heavy sigh, he trudged on through the snow, towards the stables, From there he would be able to find his way back to his own chambers. He tried to imagine what fresh tortures Otto and Philip would dream up to punish him for what he had done, and decided to spend more time with the dog.

"You're not angry with me, are you?" he asked as he knelt at the eager eyed animal's side. He'd come running back without his stick again, unable to find it in the dark. "I'll get you another."

He turned to an area where the snow had been churned up and trodden down, looking for something to throw to the dog. There was a spoke from a broken carriage wheel, detritus of carpentry, and slats from stable doors scattered about the yard. Fresh tracks led through the snow, towards the exit of the Palace, as though someone had left only recently. He paid no attention to any of it as he rummaged for a stick to throw for the dog.

He almost missed the discarded shoe. It was white satin, with a gold trimming and and a gold coloured decorative bow over the toe cap. He held it up close to his face. This one shoe was worth a fortune, and he couldn't very well give it to the dog to chew. Then something else caught his eye. It shimmered in the moonlight, but was almost lost in the snow. A scrap of fine white silk was caught on the broken spoke. He picked it off carefully. It was of the finest silk available, like liquid to touch. Just as he was about to discard the items, the doors to the Palace, a small side door, was flung open and three torch bearing yeomen appeared.

"Hold there!" one of them bellowed, brandishing the torch so that the flames Illuminated him.

Edmund squinted against the harsh flame, it brought his hangover back to the fore, and made him want to vomit again.

"I … I am sorry... I got lost," Edmund stammered in his faltering English. "I am not an intruder."

The guards looked far from placated as they raised their weapons. Then, to Edmund's horror, they called out to Queen Anne.

"Your Majesty, we've found him!"

Just moments, the Queen appeared, Her raven hair stood out starkly against the glistening snow, and she was wrapped in a dark sable fur cloak. Her face was grim, her jaw set firm as she strode up to him.

"Where is she?" she commanded.

Stunned and now more than a little frightened, Edmund clammed up. He gripped the scrap of fabric and the shoe in his hands, but gaped dumbfounded at the Queen. He didn't know what she was talking about, or even who she was referring to.

"Don't play your dumb foreigner act with me, child. Where is she?"

"Your Majesty," Edmund stammered, unable to tear his gaze away from Queen Anne. She seemed ten foot tall in her anger. "I.. I.." his words broke away and melted into silence as he fought for the right words.

Anne's dark eyes settled on what Edmund was holding in his hands, and her rage seemed to intensify. She snatched the items and held them up for closer inspection, her lips pursed in concentration. She seemed incandescent with rage.

"These," Anne thrust the items in his face. "This is Mary's shoe, this is a scrap from her gown. Now, I will ask you one more time, where is she?"

Edmund's guts turned to water with fear and confusion. His stomach was churning again, and his head spinning as he grasped for the correct words to say. "I do not know," was all he could manage. He gave a feeble shrug of his shoulders to emphasise his point.

Anne continued to glare at him. "Guards!" she commanded. "Seize him. Confine him to his chambers."

* * *

><p>Charles Brandon searched through the dispatches from home. There had been yet another lull in activity while the Emperor-sent maverick explosives expert was digging his tunnel under Bolougne. So with free time on his hands, he wanted to see if there was word from his Duchess, Catherine Willoughby. Nothing. His heart leapt when he saw a letter from his daughter, Frances. But slumped again when he saw it was addressed to Northumberland. He could not imagine what they were writing to each other about, but nonetheless, he relinquished it.<p>

"Your Grace," he said to the other Duke. They were both slouched over a table in the main pavilion. "For you." He handed Duke the letter, and pushed the box away with a sigh. Even Queen Anne had been silent of late. Normally, she wrote everyday to inform the King of even inconsequential details. The sudden stoppage was either something or nothing, and Charles prayed for the latter.

"Is the King still asleep?" Charles asked after casting around for any subject of conversation to fill the silence. Outside, the rain fell by the bucket load, and all they could do was shelter under the canvass and hope for better days ahead.

"I think so," Northumberland shrugged and tucked the letter into the pocket of his coat. "At least those poultices are working."

Charles remained silent to for a moment. Ever since the King had been using those miracle poultices, He'd been lethargic, chronically fatigued, and even nauseous. The agonising pains had ceased, and that was all that Henry cared about. But Charles was alarmed at the side effects. They seemed to be draining the life force from the King.

"What is in them, again?" he asked Northumberland, making it sound like a casual enquiry.

"Oh just the usual, but my wife added some marjoram and crushed pearl. I think it's the marjoram. It's a natural pain killer, you see," Northumberland explained, like he was giving nothing more than gardening advice. But he stopped, and changed the subject. "Look, Your Grace, it's the day after Christmas, and we're all going off to celebrate. Why don't you stop fretting about the King and come and join us?"

"He isn't just the King to me, Your Grace," Brandon replied. "He is my friend. If it's all the same to you, I shall remain here at his side."

"You must do as you see fit," the other man replied with a forced smile. "I fear he'll be poor company, though."

Charles waited until the other man had left. It was dark outside, and the rain continued to pour. He could hear it hammering off the canvass. He lit a small lamp, and carried it over to where the King lay fast asleep in a far corner, and set it down on a small bedside table, and studied the King's face intently. His skin was waxy, beaded with sweat, and his breathing had become ragged and raspy. A fever? Charles wondered. But as he sniffed the air, he could scent the smell of putrefying flesh. It was exactly the same smell that hung about the King when his leg was bad.

Charles could do nothing but wait for a Groom to return to the pavilion. He did not have to wait long, however, until one eventually turned up with the Physician in tow. They had been here in full force since the start of the campaign.

"Remove the bindings on the King's leg," Charles commanded the physician, and raised his hand when the doctor looked set to protest. "If all is well, then put it back. But, I think you should check."

They could not ignore a command from a Duke, and the Physician was far from happy. "On your head be it," he grumbled as he began to peel back the layers of binding cloth that were fastened tight over Henry's thigh.

The King murmured feverishly, but did not wake as the bandages were removed. The smell of decay slowly intensified as each layer came away, and as the last one dropped away, the stench slapped them all a hundredfold. Even the hardened Groom recoiled in horror. The Physician stood transfixed by the horror of what had been revealed. The wound was still wide open. The surrounding flesh was grey, tinged green in some places. It wept fluids and the malodorous pus mingled with the blood that wept continuously from it.

"Jesus Christ!" Charles gasped into his sleeve, glaring down at the carnage. "He said it was better."

"This doesn't make sense," the Physician said, shaking his head. "The pain only ever stops when the wound is healed. This is far from healed and yet he feels nothing!"

The Groom gingerly lifted the swaddling cloth that had been used to bind the wound, and sniffed at it. Charles watched him from the corner of his eye, and almost laughed as the boy choked. "What did you expect?"

"I wonder if there is something in the poultice that stops the wound from healing," he explained. But no scent of anything suspicious remained.

"Burn it," the Physician instructed, still looking at the wound. "Burn it, and wash out that wound with clean water straight away. Let no one tend the King but me."

* * *

><p>Queen Anne retired to her Chambers only after the other two Luxembourg men had been rounded up and securely confined in their chambers. Armed guards were placed on their doors, and no one could get in or out without their knowing of it. But even before she'd commanded it, even as it was all being carried out, Anne knew it did not add up. Doubts refused to leave her.<p>

For one, it was plain that Edmund and Mary were not together. He couldn't possibly have hidden her away somewhere, and he had no motive at all. Unlike the Scots, who were still guests at the Palace. They would take any opportunity to pull such a stunt, but even they were at the Masque, just like everyone else.

Anne sat at a small table in her Private Chambers, and loaded an ink quill. With a fresh sheet of vellum before her, she began a very carefully worded letter to the King. He would have to be told straight away, but to soften the blow she also told him that suspects had already apprehended. He did not need to know that the suspect was dubious, at best. No, nothing at all added up.


	13. Beowulf

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot, so thank you! I still don't own any of the characters, events or the TV show; and I write only for the pleasure it brings, not profit of any kind. Apologies for this chapter being so long.

Thanks again for reading, and reviews are most appreciated.

**I should warn people that scenes of violence open this chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Beowulf.<strong>

Edmund did not see the blow coming. Open handed, it struck the left side of his face, and sent him sprawling backwards. He threw out his arms to break his fall but, dizzy with the sudden pain, he grasped at thin air and landed in a heap at his brother's feet. Otto looked down at him in disdain, before dragging him back to his feet by the scruff of the neck. Once Edmund was upright again, Otto tightened his grip on the back of his collar, holding him in place as Philip landed another slap, hitting him with a resounding crack, over the same spot as the last blow. The pain blazed over the whole of the right side of his face. To prevent himself from crying out in pain, Edmund had bitten hard into his lower lip, so hard that he drew blood. He tried to focus on the metallic tang of it to take his mind off the pain in his cheek.

Otto relinquished his grip on Edmund's collar. "On your feet!" he spat the words at Edmund as his knees buckled from under him. "I said, on your feet!"

Gathering himself with a deep shuddering breath, Edmund obeyed. Tears had sprung into his eyes, blurring his vision, so that he did not see the third blow coming. The back handed slap sent him several feet across the room. His elbow smacked off the flagstones, sending shock waves of pain coursing up his left arm. Still, he refused to cry out. Partly because he was winded, partly because he didn't want to give his brothers the satisfaction, but mostly because he knew that he deserved it. He almost wanted them to do it, for the trouble he had caused.

Slowly, painfully, he rolled over on to his front, and climbed onto all fours. It was the only way he could get back to his feet, in small easy stages. But one or the other of his brothers (he couldn't see which one), merely took the opportunity to deliver a violent kick up his backside. A kick that sent him sprawling onto his front, skidding a few feet across the floor. No doubt providing more bruising to add to his growing collection.

"Up!" Philip roared at him. "Get up, now!"

Despite himself, Edmund whimpered audibly, prompting Otto to reach down and drag him back to his feet. Once he was up, he managed to stand again. He hung his head low, kept his gaze at his feet, with his hands clenched into fists behind his back. His whole body ached. He felt like a broken puppet, being forcibly manipulated at will by other people. Slowly, he steeled himself with a deep breath, and looked up to watch as the other two circled him like Hyena's waiting for the right time to pounce. The only source of comfort that he had was the grey hound dog that had followed him home. Edmund had taken to calling him Beowulf, and now he clung to Edmund protectively, and licked his clenched hand as though for reassurance.

"You have brought shame upon our whole family," said Philip, carefully drawing out each word, accentuating every fine syllable. Edmund sniffed away the guilty tears that were welling in his eyes again as Philip continued to scold him. "No, you have not just brought shame upon our family, you have shamed the whole of Luxembourg. We are here to represent our people, and our nation. And look what you have done, you stupid, stupid boy!"

Edmund's face crumpled in despair as he absorbed the admonishment of his brother, but he dared not say a word. He dared not do so much as look at his brother as Philip continued pacing around him in a decreasing circle, like a school master lecturing a recalcitrant child. Meanwhile, Otto had disappeared into their ante-chamber, rummaging through a case, looking for something. Philip raised his hand, ready to land another blow, but as he went to strike, Otto reappeared from the ante-chamber.

"No, Philip," he commanded.

Philip's arm fell back to his side as he looked at Otto over Edmund's shoulder. Edmund knew better than to hope for a reprieve at this stage. Reluctantly, he turned to face Otto, to see what other punishment he had in mind. Otto stood, framed by the archway that led into the ante-chamber, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, a riding whip gripped in his hand. Edmund involuntarily shuddered, his resolve weakened as tears welled up anew in his eyes.

"No, please," he pleaded as his gaze darted from one brother to the other. They both ignored him, pointedly refusing to look at him even though he was stood in the middle of them.

"We'll do this now," Otto explained softly to the back of his hand. "So father will not have to when we get him home. Philip, you hold him over that table. I'll deliver his lashes."

Philip said nothing, but went to take Edmund by the elbow, to lead him over to the table that stood in the centre of their chamber.

"No," Edmund shrugged him off. But he was resigned to his fate. "I can walk myself."

The fear he fought to hard to suppress was more than evident in his cracked voice. He felt sick as he settled himself over the table. He could feel Philip pressing down on him, holding him fast in his place. Bracing himself for the first stroke, Edmund bit into his knuckles, still fully determined to remain quiet throughout his ordeal. But as he heard Otto preparing himself to deliver the punishment, his nerves prickled and his senses went into overdrive. He screwed his eyes shut, and took a sharp intake of breath.

Even Beowulf, sensing his new master's danger and distress, had begun to howl madly, to Otto's annoyance. Otto dragged the dog outside by the collar, and shut him out. But as Otto returned, Edmund could hear Beowulf fighting to get back in, howling even more. He felt a sudden surge of affection for the dog.

"Brace your self, Ed," Philip whispered in his ear as Otto got back into place.

Then the first stroke landed. A moment passed, before the white hot sting spread across the top of his thighs. He bit down hard on his knuckles, and Philip bore down harder on him to keep him firmly in place. His resolve only just held, but after the second and third strokes landed, he cried out like a small child. So much so, he did not hear the door crashing open. But he almost fell off the table as the pressure of Philip's body weighing him down was suddenly released. He only avoided another heavy fall by reaching over and gripping to opposite edge of the table.

He looked up, teary eyed and a little bewildered at what had brought his ordeal to such an abrupt halt. Philip and Otto seemed stunned. Edmund saw why. Queen Anne had suddenly burst in on them, and now stood at the door with a thunderous look marring her features.

"Enough!" She commanded, oozing authority that brought Otto and Philip to heal like disobedient dogs. "That is enough," she added softly as she entered the room. Her voice was dangerously low.

Mindful of his manners, Edmund awkwardly stood, fought to ignore the pain and dizziness, and bowed low to the Queen of England. Otto and Philip belatedly followed suit. Anne halted before Edmund, and looked down at him still bowing before her. Her face softened immediately. "Rise," she said gently, offering her hand for him to kiss. He did so after hastily wiping his tears on his sleeve. He most definitely would not show weakness before the Queen.

"If it is all the same to you gentlemen, I should like a word with your brother," Anne explained haughtily to Otto and Philip, whom she had pointedly not granted permission to rise. "That is, if you have no objections?"

Anne let the silence spiral for a moment. "No. I didn't think so. He shan't be back tonight, so don't wait up."

With that, Anne swept from the room with Edmund limping after her. Once they were outside, Edmund was happy to have a newly calmed Beowulf trotting after him, too. They came to a small, comfortable chamber, the door to which one of the guards held open. Anne stood aside, and gestured for Edmund to enter.

"Edmund," she spoke softly, only to him, when she saw the look of reservation, even fear, in his eyes. "I want you sit quietly in there, and I want you to think hard about the night my step-daughter was taken. Do you understand? I need you to tell me everything that happened."

"Yes, Your Grace," he answered with a nod. His relief was immense as he did as the Queen bid him. When he sat himself down, he could see that Anne was still hovering in the doorway.

"Some of my ladies will come and tend to your wounds," she explained. It had not occurred to him that his face would be bruised, and his lip and nose bleeding.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he replied, his voice choked with gratitude.

* * *

><p>They had been on the road for well over a day before the carriage came to halt outside a manor house. Mary tried to get a good look at her surroundings, but a linen sack was thrown over her head as she was carried inside, and up a flight of stairs by who she assumed was Henry Grey. She could not even sense to where in the house she was taken.<p>

Only once she was safely secured in a small, cramped room was she cut free of her bindings. The sack was pulled off her head, and the gag pulled free. Suddenly able to breathe properly, she took great gulps of air. The whole room was thick with dust, and it choked her, making her eyes stream as she breathed it in. The whole room had an air of decay, of long years of neglect hanging over it.

Her wrists and ankles bled from where the twine had bitten deep into her flesh, and it was only upon their release that she felt the pain wash over her all over again. She had been numb for much of her journey. But the comfortable numbness was gone, making her gasp and gulp against the pain.

"What do you want with me?" she gasped at her captor. "What is this?"

"You'll see. Now be a good girl, and wait here," Henry Grey answered gruffly. Then he added: "Not that you have much choice, of course."

Mary's temper broke at Grey's goading. She launched herself forwards, grasping for the front of his doublet.

"I'll have you head if you don't tell me what it is you want," she rasped at him. "I don't know who you think you are, but with God as my witness you'll all pay!"

Henry merely sidestepped her as she lunged at him. He evaded her easily. "Oh save your energy," he snorted at her as he turned and left the room.

Mary let herself fall fully to the floor, sobbing into her folded arms as she heard several locks clicking, and a few bolts being thrown across the door. Her gown was frayed. One shoe was missing, and even her silk stockings had been ripped during her abduction. If she ever achieved the seemingly impossible, and pulled off an escape, she would surely freeze to death before reached the first safe haven. She had no idea of how far from home she was, or even if they were all still there, at the Palace. She had no idea of what was happening to anyone, and at that moment, she thought that the agony of ignorance would surely be the death of her.

Slowly, her tears dried up. Her energy had been drained, and she was left feeling listless and drained. Mary was just able to raise her head, and take a good look about the room. There was a pallet bed in the corner. A table and chair, with uneven legs, and hewn from cheap wood. The walls were hung with tapestries that, although past their best, were still perfectly presentable. One bore the Woodville coat of arms. Elizabeth Woodville was Henry Grey's grandmother, from her first husband. It was a clue, and Mary committed it to memory. Already, Mary suspected that they were in Northamptonshire, the home of the Woodvilles before Elizabeth became Queen Consort.

That was all the analysis that Mary could undertake. The thought involved in working out those small details took what little energy she had left. She barely made it over to the pallet bed, lying in the dying rays of sun, before drifting into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>Back in her Presence Chamber, Queen Anne sat surrounded by her Ladies. To her left, Princess Elizabeth sat with some needlework. To her left was Jane Parker, with Katherine Howard tending to their needs alongside Lady Nan Saville. The Princes were both placed under guard, where none could get to them but Anne herself. Nothing was being left to chance where the safety of any of her children were concerned.<p>

Silently, the Queen prayed that Henry had received the letter already, and was at that moment, rushing home to help with the search. There were scarce few Privy Counsellors left to assist Anne, and she'd had to recall Edward Seymour from his Hertfordshire estates in panic. She was loathe to rely on Seymour's for help, but this situation was spiralling fast out of control and there were still no clues as to where Mary had been taken.

She looked up at the timepiece on the wall. Edmund of Luxembourg had been left to think things through over four hours ago, and the sky outside was darkening with the close of another day. Unwilling to leave the boy to stew overnight, she summoned the guards.

"Bring Edmund of Luxembourg to me," she instructed the burly, pike bearing, guard. "And show him some kindness, please. I do not think he has had much of that."

Jane stopped threading her needle, and looked up at Anne frowning. Once the guard vanished through the double doors, she raised her concerns.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked.

"You didn't see it, Jane," replied Anne. "I heard that dog howling outside the chamber, and when I went in to tell them to shut the beast up, I found his brothers whipping him like a servant. They'd bashed his face in, too by the looks of it,"

Jane's expression softened. "That's all very unfortunate," she said. "But what if he had something to do with this? It's all a bit convenient if you ask me."

"Too convenient," Anne countered. "Anyway, I didn't ask you, so trust me, Jane. I know what I am doing."

Jane dropped the subject, and made a half-hearted return to her recently abandoned needlework. Moments later, and the guard returned with Edmund in tow. He stood, slouched and miserable, in the pool of dying light in the Presence Chamber, where Anne could see him properly. His cheek was bruised where his brothers had laid into him, he was pale, and even thinner than when he had first arrived. His hair stuck up at the back, and the fringe flopped into his eyes. He bowed low before Anne, and then looked up at her on the dais, his cornflower blue eyes were wide and pleading. Even Jane's heart melted at the sight of him, and dropped her pretence of anger and suspicion.

Behind Edmund, the large grey hound hovered, nuzzling at him. "Beowulf, out!" Edmund hissed low at the animal, who proceeded to lie down and close his eyes. Anne laughed couldn't help but laugh, and even some of the Ladies were stifling chuckles at such poor attempts at authority.

The guard placed an empty chair up on the dais, and Anne motioned for Edmund to sit with them, "You can even bring your dog," she assured him. She was relieved to see that the boy's lip had stopped bleeding. But the bruising to his cheek was a livid purple that spread out like a wine stain. "Before the others get here, I want you tell me everything that happened the night of the masque. I want to know where you were, who you were with, and who it was who agreed to swap places with you at the masque. Don't pay any attention to my scribes, but they will be writing down everything you say, and my daughter, Princess Elizabeth can translate if you need it."

Edmund glanced over to Elizabeth, who rapidly translated everything her mother had said. He managed to thank her, still ashamed of how little of the language he had picked up. But nonetheless, he pushed himself to try and answer in English.

"I don't know where I was," He explained as he struggled to recall every detail. "But I met a man in the Great Hall, who said he could calm my nerves before the masque. I followed him to his chambers, he plied me with alcohol, saying it didn't matter if I got a little drunk, because everyone else would be the same."

With Elizabeth's help, he explained all that he could remember in the minutest of detail. There were still long stretches of nothing where his memories of that drunken afternoon should have been. No matter how hard he tried, all he drew were blanks.

"I didn't agree to swap places with anyone," Edmund recalled. "I swear they took it upon themselves to do that. They must have planned this all along."

Anne thought about it for a second. "A chance meeting, and an opportunity opened itself up?" she asked, sounding doubtful.

"The man was a marquis," Edmund interjected with a sudden recollection. "Or at least he said that he was a marquis. He could have been lying to me."

Edmund cringed with shame at the sympathetic looks the women, even the Queen, were giving him. Their pity of him was worse than the treatment his brother's meted out to him, in a way. Now he just felt foolish and stupid for walking into what was so obviously a trap. He wanted to give himself a kicking. But as he sat there feeling sorry for himself, and while the Queen was whispering to one of the guards, Edmund was taken with another idea.

"This dog followed me from the chamber I woke up in," he explained, gesturing to Beowulf who was resting his head in Edmund's lap. "Who in this palace owns him? It was their chambers I woke up in and-"

"Everyone here owns greyhounds, my lord," Anne cut him off with another sympathetic look. "Lots of them, too."

Of course, Edmund thought to himself. He'd demonstrated his foolishness once again by even making such a naïve suggestion. In an attempt to recover some dignity, he made one final suggestion.

"Perhaps I could take some of your guards back to the chamber I woke up in?" he said. "Someone must know who lives there."

Anne's countenance completely changed. She sat up straight in her chair, and fixed him with a hard stare. "Are you certain you can take us back to the correct room?"

"I'll know it for sure when I see it," he explained, remembering the terrible state he'd left it in, but he wasn't about to let on to the Queen about that.

"Once this meeting is concluded, we shall go," Anne agreed. "It may not be one hundred percent proof, but it's a start."

Not long after Edmund had finished recounting his version of events, other people began filing slowly into the Presence Chamber. Queen Anne, her Ladies, the Princess, and even Edmund were all left sitting up on the dais, looking over the expanding crowd. Men armed with pikes and halberds were prominent among them. There were various gentlemen, and no women at all. Edmund watched, awestruck, as Anne addressed them confidently.

"My Lord of Hertford, we're glad to receive you here," she addressed a tall, wiry, man with a great chain of office about his chest. "I want you to over see the extension of the search to all outlying towns and villages. Go as far north as the Trent for now, I cannot imagine Mary's captors have gotten that far, yet. Not with the roads north being impassable just now."

The earl obeyed Anne instantly, not even questioning why a woman was commanding him thus. If his mother had tried that, Edmund thought, she would have been locked in a kennel. He blushed deeply, and turned to look at the Archbishop of Canterbury, who appeared from the heart of the crowd.

"Your Majesty," Cranmer, who Edmund had met before, spoke straight to the Queen without bidding. "I shall remain here and see if any demands, ransom, or negotiators arrive. Unless you have another purpose in mind?"

"That will be most appreciated," Anne replied. "We still cannot rule out Scots involvement, so I require our fastest riders to head for the border immediately-"

"This is an insult!" another man who's dialect was almost incomprehensible burst from the crowds. He was livid with anger. But the Queen remained unruffled.

"This is no insult," she calmly explained. "My Lord, given the pillaging and raiding your people have visited upon my nation since the King went away, I am sure you can perfectly understand my motives. And, if you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear."

There was an enthusiastic murmur of agreement from the English, but the angry Scotsman looked far from mollified. "We came here in peace, Your Grace, and you accuse us without evidence. What of this gentleman here?" he jabbed an accusing finger at Edmund. "His uncle, the Emperor, has no love for you!"

Edmund sprang to his feet, shocking himself with the veracity of his actions, but he wasn't about to see the Queen insulted in such a way. "Sir, my uncle the Emperor has an abundance of love for the Lady Mary, as do we all, so why would he be at the centre of such a plot?"

The room fell into a shocked silence, and all eyes turned to Edmund, who was still on his feet. He blushed deeply again, so deeply that the livid bruising on his cheek vanished in the blend. He began to stammer out an apology, fearing he had made a terrible faux pas, when Louis of Bohemia pushed forwards and spoke suddenly in his defence.

"My cousin is correct," he declared. "We are here to forget the unhappy past with the gracious Queen Anne, and build better ties, insoluble ties, between our nations. And, in recognition of that, may I be the first to offer my services, to ride north and assist with the search." To emphasise his point, he drew his sword and laid it at Queen Anne's feet in a chivalrous show of loyalty.

From amongst Anne's ladies, there was a stifled yelp as a tankard was dropped to the floor with a clatter and a wet slap of spilled wine. They all spun round to the source of the noise to see Katherine Howard blushing scarlet and hastily retrieving her dropped tankard. Anne shot her a furious look that the girl tremble.

"Thank you, My Lord of Bohemia," said Anne as she turned back to face him.

Edmund suppressed a snort of derision. Show off, he thought quietly to himself. "I shall gladly offer my own services for the search of London," Edmund volunteered. But the way Anne looked down at him, doubt etched in her face, made him wish he hadn't have bothered. "I'm sorry," he hastily muttered, feeling useless and foolish again. "You probably have someone better in mind."

"And more experienced!" Louis laughed as he looked Edmund up and down disdainfully.

Anne saw it, and her expression hardened. "Actually, yes," she replied to Edmund. "You would be most welcome on the search teams."

Edmund look from Louis up to Queen Anne who was still stood before her Lords and nobles on the dais. His chest swelled with a sudden surge of pride. He looked over the crowd, and although he had not spotted his brother's amongst the crowds, he suspected that they would be there. They looked at him now, with an identical half-smile on their faces. They said nothing.

* * *

><p>"Good night, Kat," said Princess Elizabeth as her Governess prepared to leave her in her chambers.<p>

Kat Ashley turned to look at the Princess closely, and frowned. "You are not to stay up all night reading, young lady," she gently warned.

But, as always, she knew that the Princess would get her own way. She always did, but was none the worse behaved for it. Elizabeth was the light of Kat's world. She, Kat. was a mother-second-in-command. But for all that, no matter how naughty Elizabeth could be (and that in itself was rare event), Kat could only ever bring herself to administer the gentlest of scoldings, or the lightest of smacks. The Princes may have come along and taken precedence in everybody else's lives, but Kat existed solely for Elizabeth. The daughter, child that she, a spinster who was getting no younger, would never have.

"I promise, Kat," said Elizabeth as she turned to retreat in to her chambers. "I'll be in bed by nine, I promise."

With a goodnight kiss, they parted. Elizabeth listened as Kat's footsteps retreated down the corridor outside. She adored her governess, and hated to go behind her back. Poor Kat thought her an angel who would do no wrong. But, the situation was desperate. She had to take a chance, for Mary's sake.

She stole across the room, and opened the servants entrance that had been hidden behind a tapestry. This was the only entrance that was not guarded since Mary's abduction, and it was always their favourite means of escape, anyway. She lifted the torch off the bracket, and made her way down the dusty stairs, careful to dodge out the path of any stray servants and maids who were still about. That was why this entrance was none too carefully guarded. The servants were here twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Nothing could happen there without them raising a hullabaloo.

As always, Elizabeth tiptoed past the servants entrance that led to her parents apartments, and carried on to the floor below where her brother's household was situated. He was waiting for her.

"Lord Robert, this had better be important," she warned as he stepped out of the shadows with a grin on his face.

"It is, now follow me," he replied testily as he grabbed her wrist and led her to a silent alcove. "I have been recalled home as a matter of urgency. It is Guildford and Jane Grey, they're getting married, only we don't know where yet. I swear this is related to Mary, because I do know that Gardiner is performing the marriage."

"But Gardiner hates those people," Elizabeth said, a frown darkening her features.

"Yes, but remember what we heard between him and Mary?"

They had over-heard a great deal that night. Elizabeth had let the matter drop, simply to avoid being punished for sneaking around the Palace and meeting her friends in secret when she should have been in bed.

"I know, but Gardiner is on Mary's side, he will help her surely?" Elizabeth's mind was reeling. "Unless, what Mary refused to do for him was something treasonous, and now Mary is a threat to him."

"Exactly," said Robert, careful to keep his voice barely more than a whisper. "Look, you go back and find out everything you can about Gardiner, and who he's been meeting up with. I'll bet anything it's that Brandon woman."

"I will, but Robin, you must stay in touch with me. Write to me with everything you find out from your brothers, and I will pass it on to my mother," she insisted. "The guards check on me every ten minutes, so I must go now or you'll be flayed alive."

"I'll come with you and make sure you get back safely."

Elizabeth was about to protest, but the look in his eyes made her resolve melt away. Instead, the two of them ascended the twisting stairwell, back to where Elizabeth's chambers were. But, as they were passing the Queen's chambers, a sound made them freeze and duck for shelter in another alcove near the King's apartments. A man was breathing heavily, and the sounds, like a drain being unblocked, could be heard.

"Ooooohhhh Louis!" the woman moaned softly, groaning audibly.

"Sweet Katherine," came Louis' reply. "Oh I am going to miss you."

"I'll be waiting for you, ready to welcome you home with open arms and open thighs!"

Elizabeth and Robert slowly, nervously, peeked out of their shadowy hiding place, hands clamped over their mouths to suppress the squeals of laughter that they were bursting with. Louis of Bohemia and Katherine Howard were kissing each other passionately. He had her up against the wall behind her, her skirts lifted to reveal her long, slender thighs, which he gripped hard. She was raking her hands through his hair, and down his bare back.

Trying their hardest not to make a sound, Elizabeth and Robert stole back up the stairs. They needn't have worried, however. Louis and Katherine were quite engaged in their own little world.

* * *

><p>Edmund showed Queen Anne the way he came that fateful night. Starting at the stables, wrapped up tight against the bitingly cold night, they set off on the short journey to retrace his steps. The guards followed at a discreet distance, giving the Queen room to talk to her guest.<p>

"Are you brothers always like that?" Anne asked quietly as they made their way across the stable yards.

Edmund lapsed into an awkward silence, but Anne did not rush him, or press for an answer in any way. She looked across the small space that divided them, and studied his profile. He was always so polite, so timid, but prone to acts of utter stupidity. She could not deny that. As though he sensed her scrutiny, Edmund finally answered.

"They do not mean it," he said with a shrug. "They just tried to teach me a lesson."

He sounded utterly dejected. Like there had been many attempts to "teach him a lesson" in the past, and he fully expected many more in the future. Inexplicably, it saddened Anne to see someone so young so resigned to lifetime of torment. But then, that was something else that did not add up. She had seen it with her own eyes that morning, and only now had the time to raise her concern.

"Your brothers treated you like I see school masters treat their charges," she said. Edmund stopped in his tracks, as though he were trying to back away, hoping the Queen wouldn't notice. But she did, and she stopped and smiled as she tilted his chin up with a casual index finger. "Look at me Edmund, and tell me how old you are."

He gulped nervously, trying to avert his gaze. "I am twenty-"

"Honest answer, please," she cut across him. Her gaze was unyielding. He blushed deeply, wishing more than anything he could just stop doing that. It was just another give away.

"I am seventeen," he confessed. Anne cocked a quizzical eyebrow. "Nearly," he softly added.

"In other words, you're sixteen. So, you were under orders to come here and pass yourself off as someone ten years older. Whatever for?" Anne asked as they continued their short journey across the yard.

Edmund dropped his gaze to his feet. "I get in their way," he said. Anne could tell he was stifling a sob. He was such a child, that she couldn't begin to think how this ploy would ever have worked. But she was not surprised. He was a youngest son, set to inherit nothing, then along came Mary and her big fat Princess's dowry.

"I do not even believe it was the money," Edmund continued as though he'd guessed her thoughts. "They just want me off their hands, and out from under their feet. Over here, I can be someone else's problem."

"You are not a problem, Edmund, you're a person in your own right," Anne retorted. "Look, you're barely grown, and Mary is much older than you. Whether she takes you is up to her, and up to you, ultimately. But do not give up hope. You can do more than you believe yourself capable. I saw it in the Presence Chamber today."

Edmund looked at her, almost uncomprehendingly. He wished that he could share her faith in himself.

"I know Louis is the much better prospect-"

"Louis has gone through most of my Ladies like a dose of salts," said Anne, rather waspishly. She knew he'd recently started sniffing around her cousin, Katherine Howard. "That is not a suitable prospect for a Princess. The truth is, I like you. I think Mary will, too. But you have to fight for her! When are you seventeen?"

"In a month," he replied, feeling more emboldened. It was clear Anne wanted him to take Mary's hand, and he wanted it more than anything in the world. He'd only met her twice, but really he knew it from the moment he laid eyes on her.

"Well then, that's something. Show me the rooms of the captors, and then you can go and get her for me." Anne gave him a wink, and gestured for him to lead the way. He stood up straight, and held himself with something like dignity, as he did as commanded, with Beowulf the dog trotting eagerly behind him.


	14. Louis' Life Lessons

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the lovely reviews, your input means a lot, so thank you again. I just want to state that I own none of the characters, events or the TV show. This story is not written for profit of any kind. I hope everyone enjoys the story.

Please read and review, thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: Louis' Life Lessons.<strong>

The jangle of keys and the scrape of the bolts jolted Mary out of her disturbed sleep. She woke up shivering in the cold, her flesh crawling with goosebumps, and wrapped in a useless threadbare blanket that did nothing to ward off the chill. In the broad daylight, her prison cell was even more bleak.

As her gaolers slid back the final bolt, Mary wrapped the blanket closely around her shoulders so that whoever it was would not see her in her ripped dress. She moved, like a cornered animal, to the back wall, and never taking her eye off the door. Into the room stepped a young servant. He was about Mary's age, dressed in the Grey livery, wiry but short. He looked at Mary as thought she might bite him at any moment.

"Who're you?" she demanded to know while fixing him with a haughty glare.

The man flushed. "I am not to talk with you," he mumbled as he wheeled a small trolley into the room.

"You just have, so tell me who you are!" Mary snapped.

"I'm to give you your breakfast and leave."

"It's probably poisoned. I don't want it, so take it away!"

The hunger clawed at Mary's stomach, and could be heard rumbling from the other end of the house. It didn't make a very convincing argument. The servant stood by the trolley, and lifted the lid on the tray to reveal some bread, cheese, and an apple.

"It isn't poisoned, I prepared it myself," he assured her. "Look."

He cut a small piece off each item on the tray, and ate it all in one go. "Would I do this if I thought it was poisoned?" he asked through a full mouth.

Mary watched him in deep suspicion, but she couldn't deny that the man hadn't dropped down dead. "I thought that you weren't supposed to talk to me?" she asked, reaching for the bread and cheese. "Never mind through a mouthful of food."

"Well excuse me!" the man snorted. "Whoever would have guessed a common poacher could have such airs and graces!"

The word 'poacher' repeated itself in Mary's mind, and made her choke on her food. She struggled to breathe as she coughed and spluttered violently. "A poacher!" she just managed to choke out. Once she had cleared her throat, she breathlessly drew herself up to her full height and let the blanket fall away to reveal her fine silk and velvet gown, albeit ripped and dishevelled. "Do I look like a poacher to you?" she asked, incredulously.

The servant fell silent and slack jawed as he took in her appearance. He looked her up and down, then down and up again in wide-eyed wonder. The way he did it made Mary feel like she was being stripped naked with his eyes alone, and it disconcerted her greatly. But she held her poise and dignity. Surely this creature would recognise royalty when he saw it? Well, almost.

"Blimey!" he exclaimed. "You could be a lady of the Court dressed like that!"

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Who're you then?" he asked. "I might know your father."

"Why should I tell you that when you haven't told me who you are?"

Mary continued eating as a silence fell between them. The man continued to stare agape at her, but she was learning to ignore that already. After all, she was as good as a Princess, and was more than used to people staring at her as she passed. Even if she was only going to Chapel. But, the man's ignorance of her person confirmed that she was now many miles from London. Bad news, but it was better than no news.

"Mortimer!" a woman's voice bellowed from the floor below them, giving the man a jolt.

"So, it's Mortimer is it?" Mary asked, smiling at having got one over on the servant.

"Master Mortimer, will you get down here now!" the woman answered for him. "Never mind the prisoner, the wedding guests will be arriving tomorrow, and you're needed!"

The wedding. The man flushed deeply, said no more and bolted from the chamber. Mary listened to the locks being thrust back into place. The wedding would be soon, and there would be people here. She pushed her plate away and began pacing the room. While everyone was distracted by the wedding, Mary could escape.

She dragged the crooked chair across the room, and stood up on it to see out of the window. As she looked down, she could tell that she was on the third floor of the house, facing dense woodlands at the back. The drop was a sheer one and, in dismay, she ruled that out as an escape. Even if she survived the fall, she would be injured, and the park lands could even be private and fenced off, meaning she would be trapped.

Mary gave it up as a bad job, and returned to the pallet bed to keep warm. The endless, wasteful, hours stretched out ahead of her. Hours spent agonising over her family, her father, and whether anyone had even noticed her absence. Doubts crept like vines through her mind, suffocating the rationality out of her.

Restless, she got up again, and began to pace in a small circle, slowly calming herself down. She needed to think, and to think she needed to remain calm. After a few minutes composing herself, she knelt down in the far corner, and began to pray for divine inspiration. God helps those who help themselves.

* * *

><p>Edmund skipped breakfast, and carried on rifling through the land register, looking for Henry Grey's name. He'd been up all night, searching through the lists all neatly kept in files marked "Lord Privy Seal Cromwell." The name sounded familiar to Edmund, nothing definite, but whoever he was, Edmund wanted to kiss him for being so methodical in record keeping.<p>

Even though he did not know if it would ultimately lead him to his quarry, he pressed on. The main residence was Bradgate House. Edmund ruled that out straight away. Too obvious. The houses and lands in London were also struck from the list. Grey would have known that London would combed over down to the last brick. Grey would not risk keeping Mary there. So, consulting a map, he dripped dots of red dye over the Grey properties that were beyond London's boundaries, but no more than a day or two's ride away.

Finally, he reached the final volume. Edmund's job had been made so much harder by the fact that the English had had an enormous land grab since the dissolution of the Monasteries. The ledgers were packed with names and lands awarded or sold to them. But, by sacrificing one night's sleep in an abandoned office, he'd made it.

It was mid morning by the time he closed the last of the land registers. The compilation was complete, and he had a rough idea of where to begin the search. He leant down and nudged the sleeping Beowulf awake, and safely tucked his list away. But as he got up to leave, he noticed someone watching him from the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, as Louis of Bohemia slouched casually against the door frame.

"I am watching you try to solve an abduction case by reading a book," Louis laughed, but his expression was kindly.

Edmund paused as he replaced the land registers on their shelves, and heaved an exasperated sigh. "Do you really think that you can solve this case through brawn alone?" He turned and cast a doubtful look at Louis over his shoulder. "Sometimes, my lord, you need to think things through a little before you go marching in and tearing people's heads off."

Louis remained nonchalantly propped against the door frame. "I am not disagreeing with you, cousin."

Finally, he pushed himself upright, unfolded his arms and entered the room. He pulled up a seat and sat down before the desk at which Edmund had been working. Despite it being upside down, he looked curiously over the dotted map. When Edmund sat back down, however, he turned his attention on to him.

"That looks sore," he nodded to Edmund's face. It was the day after his terrible beating, and now the bruising and injuries were fully out in splendour. The very next day was always the worst. Edmund said nothing, but wished that the conversation would end very quickly. "Your brothers did it, no?"

Edmund cast his eyes down to the map, hiding his face, but gave a jerky nod of the head by way of reply. Louis said nothing for a moment. Edmund had expected him to laugh, but when he looked up, he could see that other man was anything but amused. He actually looked rather thoughtful.

"There's nothing worse than a bully, Ed," Louis finally said. He spoke very softly, as though raising his voice might make Edmund's injuries worse. "Except two bullies, of course."

"Thank you, my lord, but really I don't need people feeling sorry for me-"

"Wait!" Louis cut across Edmund. "I came to offer my help to you. To lend you my weight, literally speaking."

Edmund looked up at Louis, his expression blank. "What is this?"

"Look, whatever grand plan you have just cooked up to rescue Lady Mary, I will join you. Forgive the presumption, but I am guessing you are not much of a fighter," Louis explained, and quickly added; "and that is no bad thing! Like you said, there is a natural balance to everything. You're a thinker, and I'm a fighter, so let's be friends. Somehow, I doubt your brothers will fall over themselves to try and help you."

"Oh, my brother's aren't like that-"

"Why are you defending them?"

Edmund fell silent as he struggled for an answer. "They're my brothers," he feebly explained.

"Ed, don't be one of these people who lives their lives being stamped on by others, and don't waste your good heart defending their rotten cores," said Louis. "I didn't place you properly at first, That lie about your age threw me, but I know who you are now. I remember visiting your father's Court, and seeing you sick with fear at just one look from him."

"They want me to toughen up," Edmund explained, desperately wishing Louis would cease and desist with this line of talk. "They do it because they love me … They just have a funny way of showing it."

"Funny? I bet you weren't laughing when they gave you that," said Louis pointing again to the bruised cheek. "And you certainly weren't laughing whenever your father took his whip in his hand."

Edmund fell back into the silence. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be argued against. Nor could he quite bring himself to look Louis in the eye. Instead, he scratched at Beowulf's ear, as the dog laid his head in Edmund's lap. "I know you're right," Edmund mumbled, almost to himself. "The Queen said it, too."

"Look at me, Edmund," Louis said. "I am offering to help you, and the rewards for you could be much greater than you imagine, and more than I could explain. What do you say?"

Edmund stopped playing with the dog, and thought for a moment. "Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"

"You're not that naïve, then!" Louis beamed widely before leaning in closer to Edmund. "In return for me helping you on the path to happy and fulfilled life, I need you to do the same for me."

"How? What are you talking about?"

"It's nothing dangerous at all, but I need your help. With a girl."

"I cannot assist with your pregnant conquests, Louis. Their husbands will have to deal with this, and now I really must go," Edmund got up to leave with his papers clutched to his chest. "Thank you for life lessons, Cousin."

* * *

><p>Queen Anne sat down at the table with the map of England spread out in front of her. The servants prepared the wine, and stoked the fires, ready for the guards and soldiers to arrive. Today, the search for Lady Mary was going to be expanded beyond the home counties, and Anne wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible.<p>

Her Chamberlain entered her Presence Chamber and announced the arrival of Edmund of Luxembourg. She set down her goblet, and granted the audience.

"My Lord," she greeted him warmly as he entered the room, still clutching his papers to his chest.

"I have an idea, Your Grace," he said to her showing her the list he had prepared, along with his own map. "If it is the Marquis of Dorset who is holding Lady Mary, then those are all his properties and lands,"- he pointed to the map-" so he must have her on one of them."

"Well yes," Anne replied, her eyes running over the paper. "But there are rather a lot of them."

"But we can eliminate most," Edmund replied. "If I were an abductor, I would take her to the first place of safety beyond London, but not the main residence. I think that is Grafton Regis, in Northamptonshire."

Anne laid the map on top of her own, impressed at the precise markings that Edmund had made, and studied it intently. Even eliminating the London residences narrowed them all down significantly. She smiled to herself before looking back up at Edmund who was hovering over her like a nervous schoolboy around a master.

"Very well, My Lord," she said. "Beyond London, we have first Grafton Regis, then Bradgate House, but that is their main residence. There is also Westhorpe, but that house is registered to the Duke of Suffolk. He is Frances Brandon's father, but check there anyway. The Duke is in France, and the house could be empty."

Edmund hung on every word, feeling triumphal that his work had paid off and the Queen was throwing her full support behind his plan of action. "I don't think they would travel much beyond Northamptonshire, it would be too risky to have Mary on the road for too long," he added. "They must have known that within a day of the abduction all roads would be watched by the guards."

"It's also likely that Mary is being moved around," said Anne. "Even with the roads being watched. I'll send orders to search every cart and wagon, no matter how big or small."

The searches had been ongoing for almost two days. Proclamations had been read out in London and the home counties, declaring that anyone harbouring criminals, or aiding the abduction of the King's daughter in anyway, would forfeit their lives. All that had been yielded from these was one or two Mary lookalikes who'd been dragged, bewildered, from the fields, and a deluge of useless information from those hoping for reward money.

Edmund stepped forwards. "All I need is a guide, and some men at arms, and I can be gone from here by noon."

"Then let us do it," Anne agreed.

* * *

><p>King Henry woke up feeling wretched. The dank smell of stale sweat hung heavily in the air, and he could barely lift his head from his pillow. The tent was in darkness. The only sound was that of the rain drops drumming on the canvass roof. A small lantern swayed in the draught, making it's small light roll around the tent's interior. Occasionally, it swayed over to the far corner, where Henry could see Charles Brandon, asleep on a table.<p>

Something wasn't right, he could sense it. He went to peel himself off the bed he was lying in, but was paralysed by a sudden pain in his thigh. He swore out loud as the pain gripped his leg, knocking the air out of his lungs and bring tears to his eyes. There was a sudden commotion as the Grooms were all startled awake and rushed over to help the King.

"Your Majesty, lie back down please," one of them implored desperately.

"This damn leg!" Henry grunted through the pain.

The duke of Suffolk, wide awake now, was at Henry's side in a second. He managed to talk sense into the King, and had him lying back flat against the mattress, with his leg elevated on a stack of books that they managed to find. To Henry's relief the pain in his leg drained away as his grooms were able to bathe the wound with cool water that had been boiled to clean it.

"You've been out cold for days, Henry," Charles explained once they were alone again.

"What!" Henry gasped, agitated into a panic by the revelation. "And you just let me sleep?"

"We thought you were dying!"

"For Christ's sake, Charles, it's just my leg, you know how it is!" Henry was livid. "What the hell has been happening here?"

"It was that poultice that Northumberland gave you," Charles explained in a hurry. "They were draining the life right out of you."

"Wait, what do you mean Northumberland?" Henry's expression was blank. "I didn't even know he was here, never mind giving me poultices."

Charles looked at Henry. Through the poor light he could read that blank expression clearly. Otherwise, he would have thought the King was playing a poor joke on him. "You really don't remember anything?" he asked, stupefied. "He's been here for over a week now. You spoke to him, remember?"

Henry frowned as his gaze slid out of focus, casting his mind back. "Yes, yes, I remember now. But its' only hazy. I remember his arrival because Anne wrote to me about it. He was raging about it, that's right. But then I got ill, and you know how I get, Charles?" he explained apologetically. "When the leg is bad I lose myself, and forget everything. It wasn't Northumberland's fault, I am sure."

Frustratedly, Charles kneaded at his temples and suppressed the surge of irritation. In a tone of forced calm, he pressed the point. "Henry, as you friend, I am advising you that Northumberland is up to something," he said, silently pleading with the King to believe him. "Your Majesty, please. We must do something."

Henry knew Charles Brandon better than he knew himself. His old friend, comrade, counsellor, and confidant, would not be this distressed over nothing. "What real evidence do you have?"

"Only the poultice," answered Charles. "But we burned it."

"You burned the evidence?" Henry repeated with a groan. "We don't even know if that was what nearly killed me-"

"I saw it with my own eyes," Charles interjected. He was interrupting his King, but he barely cared about being polite any more. "We all saw it, Your Majesty. My only regret is we did not act sooner."

"You know what I do to people who try to poison me, Charles," Henry said softly. "Boiling is not a nice way to meet your maker. So before you inflict that death on a man, I implore you to get some evidence. Now tell me, how is the siege going? We're still in France by the looks of it?"

"We're blowing up the town walls tomorrow, then launching an assault on the city," said Charles, grateful that he was at least given permission to watch Northumberland. "We should have the town taken with the next two days."

"Then we can bloody well go home!" Henry sighed deeply, relief evident in his tone. "Back to England, back to my sweet Nan and the children."

Charles remembered a message that had arrived for the King earlier that day. He got up from where he was knelt at the King's bedside, and crossed the room to where the Queen's letter lay unopened on the makeshift Council table.

"Speaking of the Queen, this came for you," Charles said, handing the letter over. "I didn't want to open and read it in case there were love hearts drawn around her initials at the bottom of the page. I know what you two are like."

"That's the problem with you, Charles," said Henry with a dramatic sigh. "You have never known true romance."

Charles shot the King a look of utter incredulity, and the two of them dissolved into laugher. Henry picked off the large wax seal as Charles fetched their one remaining candle lit lantern over to read by. Henry held up the letter above his face, and frowned at the single sentence contained therein.

"Short but sweet," he said rather disconsolately. Then, he read it aloud. "Please return post haste, Lady Mary abducted."

The two men froze as though suspended in the moment. Henry disbelieved what he had read, and went back over the sentence time and again, sure that he had misread. Each time, the meaning got louder, clearer, and more undeniably real. His Pearl, abducted. He trembled as he forced himself to sit up properly. He paid no heed to the tears that welled in his eyes, all his thoughts and feelings were with his daughter.

Charles took the letter from the King's trembling hands, and folded it away in his doublet. Already, he could feel himself swinging into action.

"Your Majesty, I know this will be hard, but stay here and rest-"

"Rest!" Henry cut across Charles. "How can I rest when they have her? My pearl. Someone has taken her and you want me to just carry on lying here, old and useless?"

"That is not what I am saying, Your Majesty," Charles said firmly. "But rest until dawn, just a few hours away, recoup your strength, drink plenty of clean water, and then we will be able to take firm action. You understand? You need all the strength you can get."

It occurred to Henry that they were in France, in the middle of a siege. It would be several days before they even made it to the nearest port, then possibly another day at sea. Then, once back in England, a few more days, possibly weeks, on the winter roads, before reaching the Queen in London. It was all very well for the fastest post riders to deliver messages within days, but the King and his men would take anything up to a month. He was as good as stranded, and Mary, Anne, and all those others who really needed him may as well be on another planet.


	15. The Walls of Bolougne

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone for the lovely reviews, I really do appreciate it. **However, if I could ask that reviewers for this story refrain from bashing other people's hard work. Thank you.** By way of disclaimer, I own none of this, and write purely for the love of it.

Please read and review, thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: The Walls of Bolougne.<strong>

John Dudley, duke of Northumberland, watched as the men crawled in and out of the tunnel that led to the walls of Bolougne. He watched them from a high vantage point that overlooked the English camp as they loaded in the saltpetre ready to detonate the whole place, bringing down the great fortifications. He could even see the King and Charles Brandon moving about, agitated and expectant, deep in the bowl of land from which they were launching their latest attack. All seemed to be going the King's way, at last.

The sound of the beating of distant hooves distracted the Duke, he turned away from his panoramic view of the camp, and saw his Commander in Chief galloping towards him on a horse flecked with sweat. Their ride to and from the battlements of Bolougne had obviously been a hard one, despite the cold weather.

"Your Grace," the man greeted his lord as he brought his horse to a standstill. "The Mayor of Bolougne will see you now."

"Excellent," Dudley replied. "You return to the camp, and get word to all my men. I have an army of one thousand fighters, make sure they all know that they're fighting for me, and not the King. They obey my commands, not Suffolk's, Norfolk's or the King's."

"I'll do it immediately, Your Grace," the Chief replied. "But, do you think you can trust this man? If we change sides, and the French don't respond, we're doomed."

"Don't worry, I'll make it worth his while," Dudley said as he re-mounted his horse. "Where're we meeting?"

The Commander turned in his saddle, and pointed to an alcove set in the town walls, beneath a watch tower. Dudley squinted through the thin mist, to where a middle aged man of tall stature was pacing agitatedly to and fro.

"See him there," said the Commander. "That's your man."

"Thank you, sir," Dudley, back in the saddle, set off at once.

Through the mists of Bolougne, over the rocky grounds, Northumberland braced himself to fraternise with the enemy. It was hard going because of the heavy fighting that had been happening over the last few weeks, the ground was churned up badly. But it only took twenty minutes for the horse to carry him to his meeting point where the Mayor still paced.

Dudley dismounted, and bowed politely to the Mayor. "My lord," he called out. The Mayor stopped pacing, and looked over at him with an expression of deepest loathing. A few hours ago, he would have said that the only thing worse than an Englishman was a traitorous Englishman. Now, here he was preparing to do business with one. They exchanged a brief handshake as they secreted themselves into the alcove.

"I don't expect you to believe me right now," John Dudley said to the Mayor. "But, I have one thousand men fighting for me, and I want to change sides and defend your town."

"Why would you do such a thing?" the Mayor asked, weighing him up carefully. "You have been trying to break our defences for weeks, now. Why are you here?"

"I want to defend your city against the next English attack, and if I kill the King of England, I will make sure that your town goes unmolested by the English forces," Dudley spelled out his terms. "They will blow up the walls, and it is too late for me to stop that. But, once the walls are down, and the battle begins properly, I will swing my men away from the English, and over to the French and help you defeat them. You can have King Henry's head on a pike on the newly rebuilt gates."

"In return for what?" he was no longer interested in why. The English changed leaders like normal people changed their clothes.

Dudley scrutinised the Mayor closely. He could see the temptation in his eyes. His people were desperate for help, and his town was at it's most vulnerable since Henry V first marched through these lands. Dudley smiled.

"When I return to England, I will be needing a bigger force of men," he explained. "If I successfully repel the English, and save your town, I will require an extra two thousand men from you to help me."

"Money? Arms?" asked the Mayor.

"Only what you can spare for my enterprise," Dudley answered. "Ships, if you can wrangle it."

"We have no ships, but we have good fighting men, as you probably noticed," the Mayor was mulling it over seriously, now. "Very well. If you are successful, and you bring your King's head on a platter, we'll be your friends for life. We will help you, whatever it is you're planning."

The pact was sealed with another brief handshake, and the two men went their separate ways. Dudley led his horse by the bridle back down the rocky path towards the spot where his own contingent of men where situated. He had a lot of explaining to do before the explosion took place later that day. But, he reasoned, it was his best chance of winning international support for a rebellion back home, even if the Grey's fail to meet their obligations.

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><p>Queen Anne was in Privy Chamber, stood at the window nursing a goblet of warmed wine, watching the men at arms burst through the gates and out into the city. There was many as she could muster, given that most of the men had been sent to France. Beyond the gates, they all branched off in different directions, spreading out all over the southern half of the country.<p>

Anne paid close attention to the company that headed eastwards towards the Midlands. Edmund was somewhere amongst them, but from that distance he was impossible to identify. She had provided him with well armed Yeomen, and he was armed with a double-handled sword. She made sure that he was fed, and had given him a new cloak to keep the worst of the cold out. But still she feared for him.

Only once the last rider had vanished from sight did she turn back from the windows. Her ladies were all spread out, some tuning musical instruments, others playing cards, and a few devoting themselves to needlework. Anything to while away the endless hours of unpunctuated waiting. The alternative was silence. Silence that would be broken by the desperate sound of everyone talking at once, before melting back into an awkward silence again.

Anne, unable to find her cousin Katherine Howard, sought out Jane Parker instead, and led her over to a window embrasure where they could talk with some privacy. If Katherine wasn't around to lighten the mood, then business would have to do.

"They'll be fine, won't they," Anne said, more to convince herself than anyone else. "They'll find her, even if they have to search all through the winter. They will not let us down."

"Of course," Jane replied encouragingly. "Put it out of your mind, now. You have done all you can."

She was asking the impossible, but Anne agreed to at least try and return to a normal routine. But the silence from France was worrying her now, too. Henry must surely have heard the news, and sent reinforcements to help them. But as she looked out over the grounds, the feet deep snow, she rationalised that the weather was hampering any relief from Henry's quarter.

"It's funny," said Jane. "A few years ago all us women would have been flirting outrageously with a boy like Edmund. Now we all we've been doing is outrageously mothering him."

Anne laughed. "Perhaps you're right," she said. "But, I think this could be the making of him. Give him a chance to get out of the shadow of his brothers, and he could prove himself the man they seem hell bent on beating him into."

No matter what subject of small talk they lapsed into, Anne felt useless sitting at home when the search was in full swing. She found herself looking out of the window every five minutes, expecting to see more messengers. But none came, leaving her mind dangerously free to wander over what she could be doing.

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><p>Edmund spurred his horse into a faster gallop as he and his guide, with the armed Yeomen hot on their heels, raced across the open countryside. Their progress was impeded by the snow which still lay thick on the ground, but they refused to let it slow them. Three days had passed since the abduction of Lady Mary, and Edmund had promised himself that he would have her back in time for the New Years celebrations. Four days, he thought to himself. It didn't seem much for the distance they had yet to cover.<p>

By late afternoon, the light had begun to fade as the dusk crept in. The air grew even colder, finally forcing them to slow the horses down, lest they freeze to death in the saddle. It wouldn't be long before they were forced to stop overnight at a tavern, and they were still barely twenty miles outside the gates of London.

By the time they got as far as Richmond, the light of the moon was visible from between the thin clouds that breezed across the night sky. They had reached some sparse woodland, but the trees were close enough together to compel them to slow the horses right down to a walking pace as they threaded between the trunks. One of the guards managed to get a torch lit to help light the path ahead. But the path itself was barely more than a thin track that weaved off at random, sometimes leading only into thickets of undergrowth, or down to a frozen river. Small diversions that ate into their precious time.

Edmund dismounted his horse, and proceeded to lead him by the bridle. It was easier than steering the animal along a track he couldn't see anyway. But, as he led the horse up to the front his guide, a man who'd travelled the length and breadth of England several times, caught him up and took him by the elbow.

"My lord," he whispered low in Edmund's ear. "We're being followed."

"What?" asked Edmund, instinctively casting a worried glance all about the woodlands. "For how long now?"

"I am not sure, possibly since we left London," the man answered.

"And you're only telling me now?" Edmund's mind reeled. "Did you not think it was important!"

"Sush!" the guide implored. "I thought it was just someone who happened to be travelling in the same direction, it was London after all. When we got to the woods, I thought it was just a guardsman. But now we're here, and I am certain there is someone else tailing us."

"But you haven't actually seen anyone following us?"

"No, sir. I may be wrong, mind you. But I know the sounds of these woods, and I don't think it's no animal that I heard tracking us."

"It could just be an animal, all the same," said Edmund dismissively. He was secretly thinking that all the lonely hours spent on country tracks had gone to the guides head. Nevertheless, Edmund found himself listening for the sound of twigs snapping under foot, and becoming more alert for shadows shifting in the darkness. "Anyway, there are a lot of us here. If someone is following us they'll be needing their own private army to take us on."

"Right you are, sir. But just so you know," the guide said. "Could be something, could be nothing. Best keep the company moving, just in case."

"Of course, please inform the guards," Edmund instructed, and watched as the man walked back over to where the rest of their company was trailing further down the tracks.

On his own again, Edmund decided that he was better off in the saddle, after all. He gripped the handle of his sword, and looked around at the trees. All around him, on every front, were just trees. His senses prickled as he strained to hear even the slightest sound of movement from off in the darkness that had closed over them. Rats and mice scurried among the nettles, badgers sniffed tentatively at the air, and the occasional bird took sudden flight, and made the treetops shiver violently. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but he had become unsettled all the same.

As soon as the whole company had regrouped, they set off again at once. Edmund and the guide, flaming torch in hand, led the way. Even though it was so dark, Edmund knew that the hour was early, about seven pm, no later. But by the time the trees thinned out into open countryside again, they had been walking for at least another two hours.

"We should stop at the nearest tavern now," Edmund said to the guide as the last man left the woods they'd passed through. "Do you think we're still being followed?"

"Yes to the first, and I don't know to the second," the guide replied. "There's a tavern not far from here, about an hour's ride. They'll take us all, but we may have to take shelter in the owner's barns."

There was nothing else for it. As soon as they reached the tavern, they got their horses stabled, and counted their blessings. The time of year being as it was, there was room at the tavern for just about all of them, and some of their number preferred to stay with the horses anyway. But Edmund found that he could not rest. What the guide had told him earlier was worrying him, and he decided to join the guardsmen who were keeping watch on the road that led to Northamptonshire, their first proper port of call.

He reached into his pack, pulled out the cloak given to him by Queen Anne, and wrapped it tight around his shoulders. Even beyond the door of the room he was lodged in, the cold nipped at his exposed skin. He trod quietly, silently cursing the creaking floor boards as he made his way through the otherwise oppressively silent tavern. Down the narrow staircase he went, through the empty bar room, and out of the front door and into the court yard.

Directly in front of him was an old wattle and daub shelter, used by poorer travellers. To his left and right were the stables were some of the guardsmen kept watch over the horses, armed against thieves who often lay in wait to steal any form of livestock from such places. Carefully, he made his way across the courtyard, and out on to the open road. Just by the gates, two night watchmen warmed their hands over a brazier, paying attention to nothing in particular.

Edmund slipped passed them unnoticed, and began walking up the road. He had the sword still fixed to his belt, but concealed beneath the cloak, but he began to feel vulnerable once he was beyond the light of the braziers, and out of earshot of the guards. Each step took him away from safety, and he willed himself onwards. He thought of what his brothers would say if they could see him now, and almost laughed. They would probably die from shock.

There was nothing much to see, however. The road stretched out ahead of him in both directions. One way to London, the other to Northampton. There wasn't so much as a modest farm dwelling; besides the tavern, it was deserted. He looked up into the heavens, to where the stars shone overhead in the endless galaxy and in an infinite number. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, but he didn't get to admire it for long.

Someone reached from behind him, clamped one hand over his eyes, and the other over his mouth. Unable to cry out for help, he found himself being dragged backwards into a privet hedge that lined roadside verge. He tried to struggle against the other person, but got nothing more than a dig in the back from a knee for his efforts.

"Shush!" the other person, a man, hissed low in his ear. "Will you shut up!"

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><p>King Henry stood with Charles Brandon and Thomas Howard on either side of him as they all looked out over the walls of Bolougne. The canon was primed, and ready to fire. The muskets were loaded, and already trained squarely on the enemy camp beyond the walls. The Suffolk and Norfolk troops were in place, ready for the charge. Northumberland's men, however, had taken up a position between the two camps. Half way between the French and the English side.<p>

Charles had been watching Northumberland like a hawk ever since the incident with the poultice, which he was convinced had been poisoned. But all the other Duke ever did was lurk about his own camp, talking with his own Chief of Staff. He didn't even seem particularly put out that the King had survived. But then, it occurred to Charles, a debilitated King was as good as dead.

"What is he playing at?" Charles Brandon whispered to the King, who kept his eye firmly on the walled town.

"I don't care, Charles. Let's just get this over and done with, and then we can get out of here and get on the boat back to England," replied Henry. "My Lord of Norfolk, is this chap ready to blow these walls in?"

"Aye, Your Majesty. Shall I give the signal?"

"Yes. Do it. Now."

The siege had been going on for a month. The troops had been hit by illness, there had been desertions, and the weather had been unremittingly foul. They were hungry, thirsty, and completely demoralised, and to cap it all, Court intrigues had followed Henry from England to Bolougne. Not even a war was enough to stop the plots, or so it seemed. Now, he was needed more than ever back in England.

After Norfolk gave the signal for the fuse to be lit, it seemed to take an age for anything to happen. They could feel the soft vibrations through the earth at their feet. A low rumble came from somewhere underneath them. There was a frenzy of activity at the mouth of the tunnel where men ran for their lives to get out of the way of the explosion. But by the time they appeared, Henry had begun to doubt whether anything was even going to happen.

But after two more minutes, the low rumble had built into a tremor that shook the platform the three men were standing on. A crack could be heard coming from the depths of the earth, followed by an ear-splitting boom, louder than thunder, as the explosion finally happened. The falling masonry was gradual, but steadily built in momentum. In a vast voluminous dust cloud, the walls of Bolougne crumbled, and fell away leaving the town completely exposed to the English attack.

"We're in!" Charles shouted above the din of falling stone, just as one of the watch towers completely collapsed into a mountain of rubble.

"Right, give the order for the advance," Henry commanded. "Let's take this damn town."

Both Charles and Norfolk slipped into action. Before the dust had even cleared properly, they jumped down from the wooden platform to rally their troops into action. The French were already beginning to fight back, so they had no time to lose. The front line composed Kentish archers, back up by shot and cannon. The Suffolk and Norfolk armies slipped into place like well oiled machinery.

But Henry's gaze landed straight on Northumberland's and his contingent. They were doing nothing. The King, still weak with the infection in his leg, steadied himself on the railings as he awkwardly made his way down to where Charles Brandon was shouting out orders to his troops.

"Charles, Northumberland's not moving," Henry warned him as he climbed into the saddle of his horse that had tethered nearby. "Go and find out what he is doing."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Charles.

Already mounted, Charles could see up the bowl of land they were in, and down the hillside. Northumberland and his vast army were spread out strategically. But strategic in that Northumberland could pick his side. As Charles expected, barely after the battle had properly begun, the Duke of Northumberland began swinging his men over to the other side. They were joining forces with the French.

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><p>Frances Brandon checked the timepiece on the wall. It was nearing nine pm. She cast a glance at her daughter, Jane, who'd been hastily stuffed into a bridal gown and was now being forcibly marched down the aisle to the altar where Stephen Gardiner was waiting to perform the marriage service. Neither looked particularly happy.<p>

"Where are they?" she hissed to her husband, Henry Grey, once he returned to her side after depositing Jane in roughly the right place. "And is she feeling more compliant now?"

"I have no idea, they should be here by now," replied Henry as they sat at a pew in the small chapel. "But Jane is more agreeable, I think. She knows it's for the good of the family."

Jane was as white as her gown. She clutched a small bouquet of flowers, lilies, for her wedding to Guildford Dudley, and a diamond tiara that had once belonged to her grandmother, Princess Mary, and been fitted into her hair. She was visibly trembling. But, there was still no sign of the Dudley's.

"Good God, what is keeping them?" Henry snorted as he looked around the private chapel again. "We get this done, and then we dispose of her upstairs, right?"

"Yes, if Lady Northumberland and Guildford ever get here," Frances said.

Gardiner was talking to Jane, running her through the marriage ceremony when the Dudley's finally arrived. They were shown in by the Grey's servant. Lady Jane Dudley, the mother, followed by three of her sons. Ambrose, Robert, and finally, Guildford Dudley. The two women greeted each other with a kiss.

"Excellent," Frances beamed at the Duchess, suppressing her earlier irritation. "Let's get this done, shall we?"

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><p>Lady Mary heard the carriage clattering up the driveway. She climbed up to her window in time to see the Duchess of Northumberland climbing out with her sons in tow. The wedding, she thought to herself. Wasting no time, she stepped down from the chair, knelt on the floor and sent up a silent prayer for the strength to do that which she had in mind to do.<p>

Once she crossed herself, and got back to her feet; she upturned the chair, and stamped on one of the legs to break it free, and winced at the noise it made. She gripped it carefully in both hands, poised to strike, and waited behind the door. Any minute now her guard, master Mortimer, would come to check on her. As she waited, however, she felt the weight of the wood. It was cheap, and felt pathetically light in her hands. She had no idea whether it would be enough, but it was all she had.

After a few tense minutes of waiting, minutes that seemed like hours, she heard the bolts being slid back. Then came the familiar whining of the rusty hinges as the door was eased open. Mary's heart beat raced, hammering against her ribs, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped her weapon. She held her breath as Mortimer came into view, and she seized the advantage of an attack from behind, and hit him as hard as she could over the back of his head.

He yelped with pain and fell dazed to the floor. Nowhere near unconscious, but wonderfully disorientated, Mary instinctively jumped on top of him, and pinned him to the floor by kneeling into the small of his back. At a loss for what else to do next, she pulled off one of her stockings, and used it to gag him before he could shout out again and attract unwanted attention.

Mortimer began to recover from the blow to the head, and started struggling violently against Mary. She had to fight back hard to keep him in place, but he almost wrestled her to the ground. She reached for the chair leg again, and hit him as hard as she could. His shouts and cries were muffled by the gag, and caught in his throat. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, making her feel sick with fear. She realised that she could kill the man, but her needs were desperate.

She used some of the twine that Henry Grey had left in the room from when she was tied up to now bind the servant in place. His hands were tied tight, and she used her spare stocking to bind his ankles. Gasping for breath, Mary staggered to her feet again, and took a look around. She was covered in sweat from the struggle, and her nerves were shot through. She gathered her wits just enough to leave the room, and lock the door behind her.

The wedding would be in progress. She had until the end of the ceremony to get safely through the house, and as far away as possible. She took a deep, steadying breath, and set one shaking foot in front of the other.


	16. The Escapees

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the reviews and feedback, I really appreciate it. By way of disclaimer, I'd like to state that I own none of the characters, events, and certainly not the TV show.

Thank you again for reading, and please read and review.

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: The Escapees.<strong>

Mary winced against every creak of the floorboards as she trod, pressed against the wall, along the landing. The sounds seemed amplified ten fold, carried through the pressing silence, as she picked her way, inch by inch, forwards. She dared not draw breath as she pressed her ear to every door she passed along the corridor. She listened intently for signs of life from within each chamber. Satisfied that the rooms were empty, she would ease the door open, and scout the room for anything she could use on her escape.

In one room, she found a fur lined cloak, and in another, an old pair of shoes. Time was not on her side, so she could not loiter for much longer. As soon as she had found what she needed, she approached the top of the staircase that led to the ground floor of the house. As she descended, just as cautiously as she picked her way through the landings, faint sounds began to grow steadily louder. Voices. Mary ducked into the shadows that spread from the wall, and tiptoed cautiously downwards.

The stairwell opened onto a wide hallway. To her left was the front door, and to her left was what Mary could only imagine to be a kitchen. The door was ajar. Not enough to see into, but enough for the voices of the servants to now be clearly heard. They were talking about the wedding, and the preparations for the wedding feast. None commented on the absence of Mortimer, and Mary could only hope that they were too preoccupied to start caring now.

Wasting no more time, Mary stepped, still barefoot, out into the hallway, and darted for the door.

"You there!"

A man's voice called out as Mary reached for the door handle. The light of the fires from within the kitchen now flooded through the hallway, the yellow glow of the flames now falling right over Mary. She turned slowly, to find herself coming under the scrutiny of a red faced man in dirty white linens. He was regarding her through narrowed, piercing eyes, looking her up and down as though weighing her up.

Mary's heart leapt into her throat as she responded to him. "You mean me?" she spoke rather feebly, as though there were some other person sneaking out of the house alongside her.

"Forgive me, My Lady," he blurted as he took in her white gown. "You must be here for the wedding, am I right?"

Dazed, Mary took a moment to comprehend what he was talking about. "Y-yes," said Mary as she quickly gathered her wits. "I am Lady Amy Dudley, the sister of the groom. Can you tell me the way to the Chapel? I just came back to retrieve my cloak, and have quite forgotten the way I came."

The man, unsure of what to do with himself, ducked into a bow, but seemed to change his mind half way through, and instead jerked forwards. He flushed an even deeper red, as he offered his assistance further.

"I can take you in person, my lady."

"That shan't be necessary, master," Mary quickly turned down his offer. Her heart beat hammered at the thought that she might never rid herself of the man. The smell of roasting meat was thick in the air, giving her a flash of inspiration. "I think I would like to take the air before the wedding banquet begins. The smell of meat cooking makes me queasy. Just tell me if this is the right way out?"

"Aye, my lady."

Mary could feel the man's eyes boring into the back of her head as she opened the door, and stepped out into the freezing cold night. Just as she closed the door, she heard a woman's voice from deep within the kitchen, call out.

"But we're not expecting the Lady Dudley!"

Mary wasted no time waiting, she took one fleeting look at the darkening grounds she found herself in and ran straight for the trees that she had been looking at from the window of her cell. Even before she could duck behind the nearest thick tree trunk, she could hear the front door being flung open, and the same man shouting oaths that carried through the night air. Soon, the sound of barking dogs joined him, creating a maelstrom of noise in the previously still air.

Not caring that her feet were still bare, and that she was now numb with cold, Mary tore through the thicket of trees, not even daring to glance over her shoulder. Thorny brambles lashed at her ankles, gorse needles scratched at her bare legs, and thickets of wet bracken sent her skidding through the undergrowth; but she ran and ran through the woods. She dared stop for nothing. Not until the air burned in her lungs, and she felt her chest could burst for want of air did she stop, panting, gulping at the air, behind a tree and sank to her knees. Despite the cold, a sheen of sweat coated her, the moisture quickly freezing her in the bitter frosts that were already developing afresh all around her.

For a long while, she could hear nothing above the rush of her blood in her ears, and her own breathing as she fought for air. But, while she settled, she wrapped the fur cloak tight around her shoulders. She strapped the shoes to her feet. They were slightly too big for her, and the tin buckles nipped into her feet. But it was better than going barefoot, and her feet were already bleeding from her dash across the forecourt.

After a rest of no more than ten minutes, she looked all about her. The rays of the full moon reflected off the snow covered grounds, the bare trees unable to block it's light. She looked back, and on either side. All she could see were more trees. All she could hear were the nocturnal animals that darted unseen through the undergrowth. No humans, though. Mary let herself fall back against the tree she was leaning against, and breathed a small sigh of relief.

* * *

><p>Edmund let himself fall limp in his captor's arms. The man's hand was still clamped firmly over his mouth, making him inhale the man's foul breath through his nose. The other arm was wrapped tightly around Edmund's chest, pinning his arms to his sides as he was forced lie beside the roadside verge, in the deep snow where he soon began to grow numb with the cold.<p>

To calm himself, Edmund turned his eyes upwards, to where the star strewn sky glittered darkly high above them. The night was a cloudless one, with a full moon shining down making the snow glitter like badly burnished silver. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the man's malodorous body that pressed him in a close embrace, and waited for what was coming next. It seemed the man now no longer knew what to do with him.

Finally, after a few tense moments, the man started dragging Edmund further up the road. Edmund listened, instinctively playing along, as the man's breathing grew ragged and laboured through the effort. Seizing the opportunity, Edmund let his feet drag and his body grow limp, making his captor's job all the harder. As soon as Edmund thought that the man was ready to drop with exhaustion, he suddenly sprung into action.

Lashing out with renewed vigour, he dug his elbow sharply into his captor's abdomen, making his reflexively double over, and relinquishing his strangle hold on Edmund at the same time. His sudden release almost sent Edmund sprawling to the ground, he swayed dangerously on the spot, but soon recovered himself enough to tackle his assailant to the ground.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pinning the man to the ground. "What do you want from me?"

The other man said nothing. He leered up at Edmund, dazed by the sudden turn of events. But, in a flash, he kicked upwards with his knee, and sent Edmund crashing to the ground at his side. He bore down on Edmund in an instant, but as he reached for Edmund's throat, he froze as though the Gods had turned him to stone. His eyes rolled, and he gasped in pain before falling forwards so that he lay prostate over Edmund.

Stunned by what had happened, Edmund tried to push the heavy body off and roll it away, and it was then he saw the arrow that hit his assailant in the back. The sound of running footsteps could be heard crunching through the snow in his direction, and soon Louis of Bohemia was standing over them, bow in hand, looking furious.

"What were you thinking, you fool?" asked Louis as he reached down with one hand to drag the now dead assailant away, and with the other, pulled Edmund back to his feet. "You knew you were being followed, but went wandering off on your own, anyway?"

Still dazed, Edmund looked from the corpse, to Louis, and back again. He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry," he said, rather feebly. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

Feeling guilty for causing such a stir, Edmund stood by the roadside, shoulders slumped, as Louis dragged the body into the verge at the roadside. Thankfully for Edmund, Louis was too preoccupied to scold him further. But once the body was out of the way, Louis resumed his lecture with gusto as he led Edmund back towards the tavern. As they went, Edmund kept casting apprehensive glances over his shoulder, still reeling from the attack.

"What on earth are you doing out of bed, anyway?" Louis continued. "Your guide warned you, and yet still here you are, wandering about on your own as though this were some Queen's private garden..."

Edmund let Louis' voice recede to the back of his mind as he tried to make sense of everything. The man, Edmund thought, looked like an outlaw. A opportunist thief who merely seized the moment, rather than someone who would stalk a company of people through the woods, and wait patiently for one to stray. Then, he looked back at Louis.

"What are you doing here?" Edmund demanded, cutting across Louis who was still in full admonitory flow. "You are not supposed to be here."

Louis stopped talking at once, and came to a standstill. The two men looked at each other, and Edmund noted how Louis could not quite meet his eye.

"That wasn't an outlaw following us, was it? It was you!" said Edmund. "You have been following me all the way from London."

"I can explain," said Louis in a rush. "And it's bloody well lucky for you that I was, so don't think you're worming your way out this quite so easily, young man!"

Edmund couldn't help but laugh as Louis fought to maintain the moral high ground. Together, they entered the Tavern. In the small porch, Louis stopped Edmund, and turned him around by the shoulders so they faced each other.

"Look, I said I would help you, didn't I?" Louis asked, and Edmund nodded. "I know you were reluctant to accept, that's why I tailed you. Don't worry about that other thing. I'll do what I must do without involving you, and still help. You need it, or you'll be a lamb to the slaughter."

Edmund raised a weak smile of gratitude. "What is happening anyway? What have you done?"

"You'll see."

With that, Louis pushed open the tavern door, and nudged Edmund inside. As he entered, Edmund's eye was immediately caught by a pretty young blonde who he recognised from Queen Anne's household. Her gown was the same as all those worn by Queen Anne's ladies. French in style. Her cap was set at a jaunty angle, as she sipped at a drink nursed in her hands. She turned as she heard the doors open, and Katherine Howard's face lit up in a bright smile.

"Louis!" she called over, bouncing up from her seat and crossing the room seeming in one twirling pirouette. She threw her arms around Louis' neck, and kissed him passionately, seemingly unconcerned about anyone who might be watching.

"Mine own darling, Kate," Louis whispered in her ear, as he returned her embrace, kissing her cheek.

Edmund, suddenly feeling like a fifth wheel, blushed deeply, and made to retreat into the corner. But, Louis reached out with one hand, grabbed him by the lapel of his coat and held him firmly in place.

"Don't you dare go wandering off again!" warned Louis as he looked up from kissing Katherine, fixing Louis with a hard stare. Katherine's eye now fell on Edmund, as though she'd only just noticed him presence in the room, and beamed brightly.

"You found him!" she trilled, utterly delighted. "You're so brave," she added with a sigh. She gave a girlish growl, like a lion, before bursting into a fit of giggles, and wrapping herself tightly around Louis. But, she turned back to Edmund, a frown of mock sternness darkening her features. "That was very naughty of you to go wandering off like that. My fiancé and I were deeply worried, weren't we my love?"

Aghast, Edmund looked from one to the other in amazement. "Fiancé?" he repeated, wide eyed with shock. "Louis, she is one of Queen Anne's ladies!"

Louis shot Edmund an apologetic look. "But we're in love," he explained, looking deeply wounded, now.

"This is what you wanted my help for? To sneak around behind the Queen's back with her ladies?"

Neither Louis nor Katherine made a reply. They both flushed a little, before burying themselves once again in each other. Edmund sighed deeply, resigned to the fact that he was now embroiled in something else that could land him in even more trouble and, potentially, a great scandal.

That day had been the most eventful of his life. From setting out across a foreign country, being followed, attacked by outlaws, and finding his kinsman illegally bedding a lady in waiting to the Queen of England, Edmund was unsure of how much more he could take. As he buried his face in his arms, slumped over a table, Luxembourg began to feel like it was a long, long way away.

* * *

><p>The darkness only added to the confusion of the battle. All around him, King Henry could hear the boom of cannon, both distant and near, as the two sides fought bitterly for ground. The sky was occasionally lit by split second flashes of cannon and gun powder, the rapid movements only serving to make the situation more terrifying. The soldiers, however, could barely see beyond the ends of their noses.<p>

Henry knew that Northumberland and the French had the advantage of attacking downhill. But, he had sent Charles Brandon and his army charging straight into enemy lines, while sentries of Kentish archers continually bombarded the enemy with volley after volley of deadly arrows. The screams and groans of the dying and the injured filled the air in the sparse moments between cannon fire, and Henry knew that the losses on both sides were heavy.

"Your Majesty!"

The voice of Charles Brandon could be heard above the mêlée, and through the flashes of light, Henry saw the Duke charging back down the hill to where he stood, still mounted.

"Charles, what's happening? Do you have the duke of Northumberland yet?"

"There's no sign of him, Your Grace," Charles yelled into Henry's ear, it was the only way he could be heard. "You should get out now, and get back to England-"

"I will not flee from the battle!" Henry retorted angrily at the mere suggestion of such cowardice.

"Your Majesty, you must return at once," Charles persisted. "We have no idea if the Duke is still leading his troops here, or marching on England to try and invade."

Henry's thoughts swirled as he tried to consider the possibility. Charles was right, Henry knew it was all too easy to keep the English distracted by the Bolougne campaign, while the enemy sneaked off over the narrow sea to England. But Henry wanted to at least attempt a considered decision before leaving his men there.

"When was Northumberland last seen?"

"About two hours ago," Charles answered. "Please, Your Majesty, get back home post haste and defend the Kingdom. God knows what is happening, and we need to do everything we can to stop it, whatever it is."

With Northumberland in cahoots with the French, Henry knew he had no choice but abandon the battle. From atop his horse, he cast one more long glance around the field. Through the brief, sporadic, flashes of light, he could see the field littered with the dead and the dying. He could see his men inching forwards towards the town. He could see the rubble of the city walls, and thought of the same thing happening in London. His Kingdom could fall.

"He could be on his way to Paris," said Henry, referring to Northumberland. "He and the King of France could be raising an army to attack England."

"That is our fear," Charles replied. "Go now, and we will follow once Bolougne is suppressed."

With one final look, the two old friends exchanged a nod. They spurred their horses in opposite directions. Charles back into the fray of the battle, and Henry in the direction of the coast, just a few sodden, dejected, grooms following his standard.

* * *

><p>The dawn crept slowly through the darkness of the night. Slowly, it penetrated the skies and ushered in a new day. Deep in the Royal Apartments of Windsor, Queen Anne was slowly teased out of her restless sleep, finally jolted awake by a nudge in the small of her back. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she rolled over, still in the twilight of being half-awake, and half-asleep. She could just make out a shock of red hair.<p>

"Henry!" she sighed as she sat bolt upright in a surge of happiness. Her husband had returned, or so she thought. As she fully awoke, she saw that it was the red hair of Elizabeth.

"No, mother, it is only me," she apologetically explained. "Forgive me, but I must speak with you. It is imperative!"

Over the last few days, since Mary had been taken, Elizabeth had been desperately seeking an audience with her. But Anne had been too busy with the search, and with trying to get Henry recalled from France. Time had slipped her by, and she'd felt guilty that Elizabeth had now resorted to entering her mother's chambers for just a word.

Anne sat up in her bed, wrapping her shawls tight around her shoulders, and motioned for Elizabeth to climb in next to her. Bess smiled and, still in her own nightclothes, did as she was bidden. Once she settled next to her mother, Anne stretched a protective arm around her shoulder.

"We haven't done this since you were a baby," she said with a small smile.

But, as she said it, Anne could see from the serious look on Elizabeth's face that she was not here to reminisce about her rapidly dwindling childhood. Elizabeth opened her clenched fist to reveal a crumpled letter that had once borne the Dudley seal of Northumberland.

"It is a letter from Lord Robert, about his father and brother," Elizabeth explained, handing the letter over. "Read it. Lord Guildford is to be married to Jane Grey, and Stephen Gardiner is to perform the service. They are all supposed to be at Court, mother. They all fled the day Lady Mary was taken from us."

"Let me read," said Anne softly.

Anne smoothed the letter out on the quilt, and frowned. Elizabeth watched intently as her mother's eyes followed the lines of hastily scrawled text. The further down the letter she got, the more disconcerted Queen Anne looked. By the time she reached the bottom, to where Robert's scrawled signature took the last inch of paper, Anne was visibly worried. She folded up the letter, and placed it on a cabinet beside the bed, but said nothing about it.

"There is more," Elizabeth said. "Lord Robert told me recently that he overheard Bishop Gardiner and Lady Mary arguing. He did not hear all of it, and did not linger to find out more. But they were arguing for certain. He is involved, mother. I am certain of it!"

Elizabeth neglected to mention that she too had heard the row. There were some things best left unmentioned. But it had been enough. Anne gave Elizabeth a reassuring squeeze.

"Return to your own chambers, and have your maids dress you," Anne instructed her. "I don't want you to worry about this, any more. But I will deal with it now, I promise you."

Anne watched as her daughter climbed back out of the bed, dipped into a curtsey, before disappearing into the side entry, to return to her own chambers. She did not want Elizabeth to see just how worried she once. So only once the Princess's footsteps had disappeared down the outside gallery did Anne hastily summon her ladies to get her dressed.

"Summon the Council," she commanded as a fine velvet gown was slid over her head. "Tell them it is an emergency."

The combination of those things that were happening, and the things that were not, had begun to spur Anne into taking matters into her own hands. She knew that she should have heard back from Henry by now. She knew that the messengers had time to reach the outlying towns, but there had been a silence from there. It seemed to her that the more she tried to contain this treason, the more it spread outwards, and the more people it contaminated. Growing ever more complex and opaque in the process.

Once she was ready, and her coronet was in place, Anne's ladies formed up behind her ready to leave for the Council Chamber. She was no longer content to leave matters in the hands of others. She turned to Jane Parker who walked barely two steps behind her.

"Lady Jane, go to my Master of Horse and tell him to have my strongest horse saddled, and those of my guards. We will be riding out by this afternoon."

Jane, seeing the look on Anne's face, the way that her jaw was set and her eyes fixed firmly ahead, could see that her mind was made up. There would be no dissuading her now. She dipped into a low curtsey, before carrying out her command.


	17. The Waiting Game

**Author's Note:** As always, thank you to every one of my lovely reviewers for your feedback and comments. It is very much appreciated! By way of disclaimer, I'd like to state that I own none of these characters, the events, and definitely not the TV show "The Tudors". This is AU, and entirely a product of my imagination.

Please read and review, thank you.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: The Waiting Game.<strong>

Queen Anne looked up from the despatches as the Counsellors filed slowly into the Chamber. She sat back, her arms balanced casually along the rests, regarding them coolly as they shuffled into their seats at the long mahogany table. It was already past noon, and Anne was eager to get the session under way and concluded as swiftly as she could. The despatches she had before her contained no new information, and it had as good as confirmed her fears. Her problems were growing.

As soon as the men were seated, their cloaks hung up by the grooms, and the drinks poured by the servants, Anne gave them a moment to gather themselves. She eyed each man in turn. It was only the skeleton of a Council that she had with her, as the rest were off in France. Thomas Seymour was there, along with Thomas Wriothesley and Sir Richard Rich. Anne's eye came to rest on a vacant spot along the left had side of the table. Stephen Gardiner should have been there, and Anne duly made a mental note of his continued absence. Along the right was another vacant space where Henry Grey should be. Anne smiled. Directly to her right was Edward Seymour, just returned from organising the search for Mary in the West Country.

"Gentlemen," she addressed them all. "I have called you all forth today to discuss ways of extending the search for her grace, Lady Mary. Also, there is another matter to attend to, and that is the continued absence of His Majesty. Is it agreed that we should have heard back from France by now? It seems also that certain others have decided to absent themselves from our presence."

Anne looked around at them all again. She felt like a school mistress, as her attention seemed to make each man drop his gaze, as though they were afraid she would single them out. Eventually, the sweep of her eye landed on Sir Richard Rich.

"You, Sir," she pointed him out. "You're an ally of the Bishop of Winchester, are you not?"

Rich looked abashed. "Madam?" He tried to deflect the question through feigned ignorance.

"Stephen Gardiner," Anne said, pointedly. "You are joined at the hip, so I thought that you might know where he is, when he should be helping me!" Anne could feel him squirming uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"I know not, Your Grace," he replied evenly, but behind his eyes she could feel the barely controlled panic. "It is true that I have supported many of His Grace's actions, and seen to it that many of his bills become acts, but we are separate in all other respects."

Anne said nothing. She raised a half smile, and left Rich writhing on the hook. She would, in the fullness of time, find out who all of the culprits were and they would all pay. Instead, she turned her gaze on to Edward Seymour.

"My Lord of Hertford," she addressed him alone. "Have you any news from your own search? Any new leads?"

Seymour turned his attention to some papers in his hands. Anne noted how he had them neatly stacked in order of size. Just like the books on his shelves, and the pens on his desk. Everything in it's order.

"I am afraid not, Your Majesty," he replied ruefully. "We searched as far as Worcestershire, and as far south as Wiltshire. No sign of her, or of any unusual activities anywhere in the west country. Still, there is a search party heading towards the East Midlands, and it seems far more likely that Lady Mary is hidden there."

"So, you would advise me to wait here until we hear back from Edmund of Luxembourg?"

Anne knew it was he had been entrusted with the major search of the Midlands. She had made the appointment herself.

"Yes, Your Grace," Edward replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "Any hasty actions now could jeopardise the whole search and rescue team."

Reluctantly, Anne agreed. She had her heart set on riding out that afternoon. But the ever cautious earl had a point. She could hinder, as much as help, any efforts that the guards were making, and while she was in sole control of the country, it could have disastrous consequences for the administration. It was not the same as before, when Henry had been there to maintain his firm grip on Government. The sweep of her gaze fell on Henry's empty seat at the opposite end of the great table. It's jewelled splendour somewhat lacked without him in it.

"The King," Anne stated, her voice betrayed just a flicker of emotion. "There has been no word from France for over a week, now. It worries me."

Anne was interrupted by a murmur of agreement that rippled the whole length of the Council table, down both sides, but it soon melted into an awkward silence. The question on Anne's lips was already answered.

"Am I correct in guessing that there is still no word?"

"Nothing, Your Grace," replied Edward Seymour.

"My Lord of Hertford, you are to fill Stephen Gardiner's duties," Anne informed him. "Deal with the Scots. They're still disgruntled about being blamed. Put them to use in the search for Lady Mary, and make it known that we are still interested in marriage negotiations between Prince Arthur and Queen Mary."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Edward smiled, his ambitions coming to fruition. "I will set to work immediately."

Anne turned to Hertford's younger brother, Thomas. "You, sir," she addressed him. "I am appointing you acting Lord High Admiral while the King is away. I require you to ride out to Dover, and immediately set sail to patrol the channel. I want to know immediately if any French or English ships enter our waters."

Thomas Seymour looked shocked to have been addressed at all, but nonetheless soon found his footing and graciously accepted his new job. Anne had considered him rash and hasty, but for want of anyone else even remotely suitable, she had no choice. Finally, Anne pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet. The men swiftly followed suit and bowed low.

"Thank you, Gentlemen. Council dismissed."

* * *

><p>Frances Brandon followed the maid up the stairs. She almost lost her footing, tripping over the hems of her skirts, but managed to steady herself by grabbing the handrail as she ascended the steps in a frantic rush. She cursed silently under her breath. Everyone had been so consumed by the wedding that nobody had noticed the servant, Mortimer, had not returned from attending Lady Mary. Now, she was fearing the worst.<p>

They emerged on the landing, panting for air after their exertions, but did not stop to catch their breath. Both the maid, and Frances, made a bee line for the door of the makeshift prison cell on the third floor, and right away Frances could tell something was amiss. The keys were hanging out of the lock, but the door was still barred. In a vain hope, Frances jerked her head left, and then right, where the passageway forked into two directions, seeing if Mortimer was down there. There was no sign of him, though.

"Open the door, girl," Frances commanded with a nod to the bar that kept the door fast.

The maid dipped a curtsey before turning to her attention to the task. Her hands fumbled with the latches, and her face reddened with the effort of lifting the heavy oak bar. But she managed it easily enough. With a silent gulp, and fluttering nerves, the girl swung the door open, and gasped loudly, slapping her hand over her mouth to smother the cry of shock.

"Oh what is it, girl?" asked Frances as she nudged the girl aside and entered the chamber.

Frances' expression froze in horror as she looked down at Mortimer the servant. He was sprawled out in the dirty rushes that lined the floorboards. His wrists and feet bound, his mouth gagged with an old silk stocking. The meal that he was meant to be serving Lady Mary lay scattered on the floor, the silver tray tossed aside in what must have been a frantic fight. The man was unconscious.

"Hurry and get the Master, girl!" Frances snapped irritably at the maid, who was still standing, rooted to the spot, wide eyed with fear.

"Yes, madam," she stammered before backing out the room, shaking like a leaf.

Frances knelt by Mortimer's side, and breathed a sigh of relief to see his chest rise and fall. She shook him violently, jolting him awake. Then she hurriedly fumbled with his binding, setting him free. He came around, groggy and confused. Spitting out the gag as Frances picked the know loose, he began gulping for air like a landed fish. Moments later, and Henry Grey charged into the room with the young maid in tow.

"What in God's name has happened?" he asked, bewildered by the scene before him. "Where is she?"

Frances paid no heed to her husband. She dragged Mortimer, still dazed, up into a sitting position by the lapels of his doublet.

"Where is the Lady Mary?" she asked, her voice becoming panic stricken. "When did this happen?"

Mortimer looked at Frances, but he was still struggling for air. His eyes slid in and out of focus, crossed and uncrossed again. Frances slapped him sharply, trying to bring him back to his senses, but only seemed to add to the shock he was already suffering. Eventually, he managed to point to the door.

"She went that way," he murmured.

"Well, that much is obvious," Frances replied, getting to her feet again. She looked at the maid. "See to him, Rebecca. The Marquis and I have urgent business to discuss, see to it that we're not disturbed, especially by the Dudleys'"

Frances ignored the girl's curtsey, linked her arm through her husband's, and steered him firmly out of the room. As soon as they reached the ground floor solar, she slammed the door shut and latched it.

"What now?" she asked, turning a fierce eye on her husband. "She cannot have gone far, so we must find her!"

Henry made no immediate response. His delayed infuriated Frances, who could see he was not taking the situation as seriously as she was. "Do you think we have time to waste?"

"Of course not," he replied defensively. "I am trying to think where she could have gone. Where would you go in her situation?"

"The cook said the girl he saw took off in the direction of the woods," Frances explained. "So, if we set the men in that direction, and we follow, we should find her."

"Well then," Henry said. "Let us waste no more time on talk. I'll see to the saddling of the horses, and you rally the guards."

"What about the Dudleys?"

"Tell them to take Jane back home with them," Henry answered dismissively. "She is theirs now, and we need them all off our backs until Mary is caught."

Francis thought for a moment. "She will be heading for London," she quietly said. "If we take a retinue out on the road to London, then we could find her in no time. I will search the woods, too."

Henry leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Don't fret," he reassured her. "If we don't get her, the weather will."

With that, Henry departed to rally their retainers into action. Frances lagged behind for a second, and looked out over the woodlands that surrounded the rear of the house. She looked at the snow, and hoped for fresh tracks that would lead her to her quarry. Eventually, after she heard Henry's voice booming down the outer galleries, she too spurred herself into action.

* * *

><p>All trees start to look the same after a while. Mary could have sworn that she had gone around the woodlands in a wide circle. Her legs were numb with cold, and the fur of her stolen cloak was coated in a fine layer of snow. She was tired beyond belief, and only her sheer desperate fear kept her tramping through the woods, bearing south towards London. Times when she thought about giving up began to periodically pop up in her mind, but she would quickly suppress them. Now, after several hours, and in the grey dawn light, that was getting harder to do.<p>

But, once the sun had fully arisen, the woods began to thin out, and a wide, frozen river came into view. The river, she knew, would feed into the Thames at some point. She could see the edge of the woods, too. She came to a rest by the edge of the river to weigh up her options. Not far from where she was, the road to London lay. She could be dangerously exposed on the road, but she had no other way of finding shelter.

She looked back the way she had come, trying to guess at far from the house she was. But it was impossible to tell. Instead, she turned to face southwards, and followed the river. The trees were still dense in that direction, but at least the river, frozen as it was, gave her some direction.

"To the Thames", she whispered to herself, as though she could draw strength from being one step closer to home.

* * *

><p>Edmund and Louis wasted no time at the Tavern. As soon as the dawn broke, they were in the saddle, with Katherine Howard perched on a palfrey behind Louis' destrier. Their company formed up behind them in a procession to fit along the narrow road. The local authorities had already removed the body of Edmund's attacker; a fact he was eternally grateful for as they rode past the spot.<p>

"If we follow this road to the north east," Katherine piped up. "We could make it to Northamptonshire by mid afternoon."

"Are you sure?" Edmund asked, casting a side long glance at her. She still had her eyes fixed adoringly on Louis, who affected not to notice.

"Oh yes, my family own estates around there. I know it well."

"I have an idea," Louis said, looking from one to the other. "Why don't we split the company. Us three and a company of one hundred ride the way Katherine suggested. The rest can follow this road due north. If we need back up, it won't be far away, and we can cover more ground."

Edmund looked around. Their company was big enough, and they would move a lot faster if there were two smaller groups, instead of one large group.

"Let's do it," he agreed.

It took just a further half hour to get the men they needed to travel through the less beaten tracks. Within the hour, their horses were spurred into fast gallops as they raced through open countryside, only the soft ground snow slowed them at times. But the snowstorms themselves had stopped, and the air held the promise of a thaw.

After no more than three hours, they came to a frozen river. The ice was too treacherous to cross on horseback, so they had no choice to but follow it on the western banks. But it led into a thick forest on the east side.

Edmund pulled the reins of the horse, bringing the animal to a halt at the edge of the woods. Louis and Katherine followed suit.

"Are we going in the right direction?" asked Edmund as he ran back to the road, checking the way they had come, and the way they were yet to go.

"This river flows into the Thames," Katherine informed him from where she and Louis were now canoodling at the riverside. "Follow it the way we're going, and we'll soon reach Grafton Regis, and that's the place we want, right?"

Edmund jumped down from the verge he had clambered up, and returned to his horse. There was no point hanging around and wasting more time. The light of day was already beginning to fail, and soon it would be dusk again. The rest of their company had begun to light their lanterns, and Louis fetched one for them.

"We ought to look for a camp," he said as he got back into the saddle. "I don't fancy spending the night in this frozen wilderness, though."

Louis cast a long look around at the land. The inhospitable woods, the river frozen solid, and the frost bitten undergrowth under their feet. Edmund had to agree that it was less than inviting. They rode on, still sticking to the meandering river as closely as they could. The trees were growing thicker, blotting out what little day light remained, and although the branches were bare, there was enough of them to form a gnarled canopy over head.

"I say we stop here," Louis said as he brought his horse to standstill. He reached over, and grasped Katherine's horse by the cheek strap, bring it too to a halt.

"Here?" Katherine sounded mortified as she looked around at their surroundings.

"I'll keep you warm, my love," Louis winked at her, and whisked her into his arms which soon chased the frown from her face.

"She's right," said Edmund as he joined the two of them. "Why don't we just leave the men here, and the three of us can go a little further upstream. Let's see if there is a better spot nearby?"

"Oooh! An adventure!" Katherine gasped, her eyes wide as saucers and glittering with excitement. "Oh come on, Louis!"

"Come on then, let's go," replied Louis as he threw his arms around their shoulder, hugging both Edmund and Katherine into his sides as he walked them both away from their camp.

They left their horses, and their guide was in charge of setting up tents as best he could. Edmund dared to even hope that they could fine some wood dry enough to start a fire with. They were all cold, hungry and tired from a day in the saddle, and even a fire would cheer them at that stage. He couldn't help but admire Katherine, however. She was still smiling and in love, despite being brought through hell and high water.

But it was Katherine who suddenly froze, the smile fading from her face as her gaze shot into the trees on the other side of the river.

"What was that?" she whispered low so that only Louis and Edmund could hear her.

The two men stopped and strained their eyes and ears for the slightest hint of sound or movement. A dry twig snapped under foot somewhere far off in the trees.

"I heard that," Edmund whispered. His heart began to beat faster, and his palms became slick with a cold sweat. He couldn't help but think of outlaws living wild in these woods. "It's not them, is it?"

No one answer him for a moment. But after a tense minute, Louis sighed deeply with relief. He pointed into a bare hawthorn bush on the opposite side of the river. A small Deer could just be seen picking at the bare branches, craning it's slender neck for what little fruit remained on it's branches. It stopped as though it sensed the presence of human predators, and Edmund could see it's large obsidian eyes glittering in the moonlight. It looked back at them for a brief moment, before darting back between the tree trunks and out of their sight.

"I thought it was outlaws," Edmund confessed, feeling a touch foolish.

"Aww bless you," Louis teased and ruffled Edmund's hair, as they resumed their walk up the river side. "You weren't scared were you?"

"So were you!" Edmund protested with a bark of laughter. "I felt you grow rigid with fear at my side!"

"I did not!" Louis hotly retorted. "That was just regret that I did not bring my long bow with me. That Deer would have made a lovely supper for us all."

"Oh don't be mean," Katherine cut Louis off, pouting, and landed a play smack on his arm, making him cry in mock pain.

"Stop it, you two," Edmund groaned as they kissed each other deeply as though he wasn't there again. He was still nervous about what Queen Anne would do when she learned of their affair. Something they were evidently untroubled by. To hide his mild embarrassment, and to give the young lovers some privacy, Edmund extricated himself.

He did not walk far, and certainly not out of their sight like he had the previous night. He was unprepared to put himself in danger again. But, he went far enough to get a wider vantage point upriver, and into the woods that lined the opposite banks of the frozen water. The sounds of something darting through the woods could be heard again. It was the Deer. It crashed through the undergrowth as though terrified. It tried to run across the frozen surface of the river, but skidding and splayed it's legs as it struggled to stay upright.

"Why is that animal so afraid?" Louis asked, as he too noticed the animal.

"I don't know, but something has spooked it," Edmund replied darkly.

Louis and Katherine slowly, treading carefully, came over to join Edmund where he then stood, looking out over the river. The Deer managed to get back to safety, and back in the woods, and out of sight. But whatever had terrified it so was still in there, getting closer. Louis reached out a hand, and gripped Edmund's shoulder to stop him moving forwards. Katherine clung to Louis from behind, like a child hiding behind its mother's skirts.

"Do you see anything?" Katherine asked in a whisper that was almost lost on the breeze that blew from the forest.

Louis wrapped a free arm protectively around her waist. "I don't see anything."

Edmund shrugged Louis hand off his shoulder, and reached for the sword at his side. He drew the blade slowly, smoothly, so that he was ready to attack back should outlaws try anything. He took a cautious step forwards. Movement could be seen in the trees, and this time, it was definitely no animal.

* * *

><p>Queen Anne's temper had been simmering all afternoon. She had been set to ride out and join the search parties herself. But Seymour was right. If she went riding in there roughshod, she could just as much a hindrance as a helping hand. So, after the Council session had concluded, she reluctantly returned to her Privy Chambers. It seemed that she was doomed to sit on the sidelines, and play the waiting game. A game she always hated, and usually lost.<p>

She tried a number of things to distract herself from the innumerable problems. She dined with the Scots' ambassador, and Eustace Chapuys had called on her for an update on Lady Mary and the King. Being unable to tell him anything that he did not already know was a wrench to her. She tried to focus on needlework, but even at the best of times that bored her. Her eyes slid over pages of books, while her brain took in none of the meaning.

So, she gave up. She watched now, as the sun set on the horizon. One day closer to the spring, she glumly thought to herself. Just as she returned to seat at the fireside, however, there was an urgent knock at the Privy Chamber door, in the outer gallery. A second later, and the shrill voice of Jane Parker could be heard remonstrating with the visitor. Anne got back to her feet, straightened her skirts, and swept into the outer galleries.

"What is all this?" she abruptly asked, frowning at the weather beaten messenger. "Are you on the King's business?"

"Aye, Your Majesty," he bowed low, but got straight back up again. "His Grace the Duke of Northumberland has deserted the King's forces, and is now in league with the French. We fear he could be about to invade England with the help of King Francis."

The words had tumbled out of him in a rush, and Anne had to take a moment to process the meaning. The breath caught in her throat, and she felt her knees almost buckled beneath her. Jane's face reflected Anne's emotions perfectly. A look of abject horror.


	18. The Cup Of Friendship

**Author's Note:** As ever, I want to begin with a big thank you to all my reviewers. Your comments and encouragement are very much appreciated, so thank you. Moving on, I'd like to reiterate that I own none of the characters, events, and definitely not the TV show. (Apologies for re-uploading this chap, but something needed fixing).

Please read and review, thank you.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Eighteen: The Cup Of Friendship.<span>**

Across the whole of Windsor Palace, men hurried to and fro. In the stables, horses were shoed afresh, and in the smithy hauberks and swords were mended in preparation for action. All the shot left in the Tower had been emptied for Queen's disposal, and the whole of London seemed to have swung into action over night. Thanks to the Palace heralds,word of the new French threat had spread fast.

But, deep within the Palace, the Queen was still in residence in her Presence Chamber. Before she rode south to meet any potential invaders, she had business to conclude. In the past, the Scots had always collaborated with the French to give the English major military headaches, and that was one thing Anne could do without, now. She had the Earl of Angus sent to her Presence Chamber, where she would find out, one way or the other, whether they were for or against her.

The Earl entered, bowed deeply, and took a cautious step forwards. Anne watched him from up on the dais through narrowed eyes. "Rise," she commanded him. "My lord Angus, we're pleased to receive you here."

"Your Majesty," he greeted her in return.

Anne's eyes flickered up to the guards at the door. The blades of their halberds glittered in the candlelight. Their own eyes were fixed on the earl, ready to spring in the event of trouble.

"After all of the upsets that have occurred since your arrival at court, I trust you have some token of Scots friendship?" asked Anne, her gaze returning to the earl.

Angus blanched and swept the cap of his head. A nervous gesture, rather than a gentlemanly one.

"Madam, I have an offer," he replied. "To prove the friendship of the Scots, I offer myself to be your prisoner. Should you find the actions of my country to be to your displeasure, then my life will be in your hands. So help me God."

Anne thought that it was no wonder he looked so scared. It was always the way, between two warring countries, to offer each other valuable prisoners to one another to guarantee good behaviour. The Scots know that if they betray Anne, she will order Angus to be executed.

"Very well," she replied curtly, and nodded to guards. "Take him to the Tower, and make sure the Scots stay faithful to us."

Angus left willingly, his ultimate fate now resting in the hands of his fellow countrymen and Queen Anne. It was the best show of trust and friendship that Anne could have wished for. With the Scots now seemingly on her side, she got up from her seat on the dais and swept through the galleries and into the Privy Apartments.

In the Solar, Prince William was sitting with his nurse maid, sullenly chewing on some wheaten bread, with butter and honey. He glowered up Queen Anne as she bent down to kiss the top of his head. But, as her lips made contact with his skin, he jerked away violently, prompting a firm scolding from the nurse.

"It's quite all right, Mistress Parry," said Anne, frowning down at her youngest son, who carried on stabbing at his snack with a knife. "The boy is sulking because he has been forbidden to ride out with us to the South."

William dropped his knife, and glowered back at his mother. "Arthur is going, why can't I?"

"Because Prince Arthur is older," Anne informed him in a manner that would brook no nonsense. "He will be King one day, and must learn how to defend his Kingdom. This is invaluable experience for him."

The real truth, of course, was more blunt than that. Although Arthur did indeed need to know how to defend his Kingdom, and lead his men into battle. But, the delicate state of the succession dictated that only one of Anne's sons could be taken to see the action. If Prince Arthur should die during the campaign, then William would be safely locked away in London to take his place as heir to the throne. Both boys so close to danger could be disastrous. All the same, William was crestfallen.

"Prince Arthur will not be doing any fighting," Anne said in a more gentle, placatory manner. "He will more or less coming along for the ride. To see how things are done."

Anne hoped that by downplaying Arthur's role, William would cheer. As though he'd second guessed what her tactic, he looked even more dejected. Anne lowered herself down so that she could speak on his level, face to face.

"One day, when Arthur is King," she spoke softly. "You, too, will have the opportunity to ride out and defend him. If you work hard with your Tutors in the Quintain, and at your swordsmanship, you will be a great warrior, just like in the legends!"

William finally looked appeased, and planted a sticky kiss on Anne's cheek.

"That's better," she smiled, and took a napkin to dab at the mess on his face.

Just as she made the boy presentable again, Prince Arthur's Chamberlain appeared in the Solar. He bowed low to Queen Anne, and announced the Prince's arrival. Arthur stepped inside. He was dressed in a finely welded hauberk, over which silver breast plate had been fixed. The English Royal Standard, intricately embroidered into the finest silk, had been draped over the plate. This was his first suit of armour. Anne looked him up and down, tears of pride, sorrow, love and fear misted her eyes.

William saw his older brother, too. But the look in his eye was one of intense longing. His mother's words quite forgotten, he pushed back his chair and ran from the room. Mistress Parry shot the Queen a deeply apologetic look, before chasing after the Prince.

Arthur did not seem to notice William's odd behaviour. He sunk into a low bow made awkward by the armour that he was clearly unaccustomed to.

"My Lady Mother," he greeted her formally, his voice now cracking with puberty. "I am ready to defend our Kingdom. I humbly beg your favour, as a mother to her ever loving son?"

His fair hair had been neatly brushed into a side parting, and gold coronet set on his head. He was standing nearly to Anne's shoulder, now. He had Henry's tall stature. So grown up. So mature for his years, that a single tear slipped down Anne's face. She held out her hand, which Arthur duly took, and brushed a soft kiss against her trembling fingers.

"In the name of saint George, the Queen, and England," said Anne, her voice choked with emotion. "I bless you, my son."

She placed her hand on his head, raised him from his bow, and kissed him on both cheeks. Then suddenly, like a Portcullis raised in a flash, the child Arthur was back. His face flushed a deep pink, and his face was lit up by the brightest of smiles. He was like a little boy who'd won a gold star from his tutors.

"I will make you proud, mother." he promised her. "I will make father proud of me, too. All England will be proud of me."

"We already are proud of you, Arthur," Anne assured him as she wrapped him an embrace. "We're all so very proud of you."

It wasn't much of an embrace. It was like wrapping her arms around sheet metal, while he was in full armour. But he looked so proud of himself, and so excited to be defending his country, and proving himself a young man. Anne kissed him. It was time to go.

* * *

><p>Mary's vision swam into focus. The blurred images before her face warped and distorted before finally resolving themselves into solid shapes, and sound finally reached her sleep drugged senses. Her whole body ached. A thousand and one scratches, cuts and bruises all flared up at once, making her wince and tears swim in her eyes. A dull ache pounded in her head, making her screw her eyes shut.<p>

After a few moments, the ache subsided. She opened her eyes again, and tried to take in her surroundings. She was lying on the floor. A beaten earth floor with just an unrolled pallet mattress keeping her out of the dirt. A tent. The canvass walls stretched over head to form a shelter. Her cloak was draped over a saddle that had been left by her bed, in an attempt to dry it off.

She was alone. She could hear a woman's voice outside, but could decipher no words spoken. Mary tried to move, but her limbs screamed with pain whenever she did more than just breathe. The rise and fall of her chest seemed all that her battered body could take. Nonetheless, she was able, after a great struggle, to prop herself up on her elbows. Taking a proper look around, she could see that a fire had been lit at some point. The embers of a log lay in the middle of the tent itself. There was a vent in the roof, however, to let any smoke out. This was a tent used by soldiers in long military campaigns.

After a few dazed moments, memories of recent days crashed back into her mind like a cannon blast. The escape, the flight through the woods. The Deer she startled that gave her away to her captors. In a panic, she threw herself off the pallet, ignored the protests of her body, and lurched towards the flap of the tent.

As she stumbled out into open, she expected to find Frances Brandon, or Henry Grey waiting to tie her up again. She had vague, endlessly optimistic notions, of fighting them off with what little strength she had. To die in the effort if needs be. When I man she did not see properly caught hold of her and tried to pull her back towards the tent, she lashed out with her fists. But he caught her, and held her immobilised within moments.

"Lady Mary," he said soothingly. "It's all right now. You're safe now."

Mary's addled senses took a minute to process what had been said. All she could see was the man's chest, and when she looked up into the face of Edmund of Luxembourg, she almost fainted with relief. She sagged into his arms, and burst into uncontrollable, body racking, tears.

"What are you doing here?" Mary asked Edmund.

Once she had composed herself, Edmund had led her back into the tent where they were camped, still by the riverside. He had fed her on wheaten bread and salted bacon that they had brought from the tavern they'd stayed in on the previous evening. She had eaten ravenously, and drunk deeply from a pitcher of wine. She was even unconcerned that all she worse was a fine shift. Her wet, torn gown had been removed to dry by another camp fire, outside. Now, she needed answers.

"I came to find you," he answered, blushing deeply. Timidly, he kept his eye trained on the open flap of the tent. "We were worried."

"But, why?" Mary asked, her voice hoarse from her exhaustion. "You owe me nothing."

"That's not the point," Edmund replied. He looked sideways, to where she was sat beside him on the pallet bed. "I … It's just …" his nerves flared up again, making him forget his English. He realised, suddenly, that his actions must seem foolish and hasty. Perhaps even overbearing. Mary frowned as she struggled to recall exactly what had happened on the night of her abduction.

"It was meant to be you," she whispered, narrowing her eyes. "You were meant to play the role of the abductor, but instead let Henry Grey do it, and he turned out to be a real abductor."

Edmund flushed a deep red, all his new found confidence running out of him like cheap dye from cheaper wool in a boiling pot. His expression fell, brows creased into an apologetic hang dog.

"I couldn't have known," he feebly defended himself, but the guilt surged in him. "I cannot explain..." his words trailed off, and he dared not even chance a glance at her any more.

"You fool!" Mary spat at him, venom in her expression. "You have no idea what your idiocy has put me through!"

"I am sorry, I-"

Mary cut across him, though. "I want neither your apologies, nor your excuses, sir!"

Edmund cast around desperately for something to say that would make her pain melt away, or for some gesture that would make her smile. He sent up a silent prayer for divine inspiration to show him the way to her heart. But he could see that all was in vain. The only reason Mary hadn't slapped him was because she was too weak.

"You should rest, Your Grace," he advised her, his words faltering. "But we leave in an hour."

Outside, it was starting to snow again. It was rotten weather to be travelling in, and Edmund wanted to get back to the Palace as quickly as possible. He watched as Louis and Katherine packed up their belongings, ready to get back on the roads. He watched the way they broke off their actions, and fell in each other's arms. The way they stole kisses, and whispered secrets in each other's ears. So happy, so at ease.

Then he looked back at the tent in which Mary glowered. She would have no choice but to ride with him, on his horse. He braced himself to tell her the good news.

* * *

><p>John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, entered the house in which the King of France had hidden himself since the siege of Bolougne had begun. Francis' Court had shifted suddenly across the whole of France, fearing Henry of England's high ambitions, ready to defend their borders from further attack.<p>

The house was a grand affair, and the King was certainly suffering no deprivations for his trouble. Dudley was presented to him almost immediately by a simpering Usher who spoke in rapid French, with the Brittany dialect. Dudley bowed low before the King who regarded him with the deepest of suspicions. Francis addressed Dudley in English.

"Rise."

"Your Majesty," Dudley made a point of using French. "I have come to pledge my allegiance to you."

"At what price?" Francis asked. He was no man's fool. Especially not an Englishman's. "Bolougne is lost. The Town surrendered to your King only yesterday, despite your intervention."

"And I am sorry for it, Your Majesty," Dudley replied quickly, giving Francis no time to dwell on his recent loss. "But, with full backing from you, I could get Bolougne back to you, and more besides."

Francis stroked his beard the same way an old maid strokes her favourite cat. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his lips compressed. Otherwise, his face was unreadable.

"Go on," the King eventually prompted the Duke.

"Give me men, cannon, and ships for an English invasion, and I will return Bolougne," Dudley replied firmly. He was about to continue, but Francis cut him off.

"You are offering to give me back what is already mine?" he snapped, disgust etched in his fine features. "This is an insult!"

Halberd and pike bearing guards suddenly sprung into action, and made to seize Dudley and take him prisoner.

"Wait!" Dudley barked at them. "I am not finished."

Francis help up his hand, a signal for them to back off. They moved barely a step away, showing they were ready for action should Dudley's additional offer merely upset their King even more.

"And I will give you back Calais, stolen from France many centuries ago." That did the trick. The guards now retreated back to the shadows. "Also, I pledge to support you in your war with the bastard Emperor, Charles V."

"That's more like it," Francis smiled, and signalled for wine to be poured. "And with regards to the Emperor?"

"Two of his nephews, Edmund of Luxembourg, and Louis of Bohemia, as well as Edmund's two brothers are currently in England," Dudley explained, gratefully accepting the wine. "I will hand them over to you as prisoners, or bring you their heads on platters to send on to Charles. Whatever you prefer."

Francis looked like all his Christmas's and New Years had come at once. Those men as prisoners of France would either yield millions in ransom, be used to guarantee the Emperor's good behaviour, or be used to terrify him into submission if they were used as political prisoners. If that failed, he would just execute them, and humiliate Charles in front of the whole of Europe. Their value was inestimable. He may even bribe their lands from their fathers.

"I will give you everything you need," Francis replied, ready to drink from a cup of friendship with Dudley. "But, when we succeed, you bring me all four of those men unhurt into my custody. I have many, many uses for them."

A double handed golden bowl was produced, and filled with the finest wines that France had to offer. Francis grasped it's handles, and drank deeply.

"Your Grace," he said, offering the fine bowl over to Dudley.

Dudley took the cup of friendship, and drank deeply, and with relish.

"Your Majesty," he bowed again as the cup was borne away.

The pact was sealed, and the deal done.


	19. Calais or Bust

**Author's Note:** As ever, I want to begin with a big thank you to all my reviewers. Your comments and encouragement are very much appreciated, so thank you. Moving on, I'd like to reiterate that I own none of the characters, events, and definitely not the TV show.

Please read and review, thank you.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Nineteen:<span> Calais or Bust. **

Lord Maltravers, Governor of Calais, received his unexpected visitors with as much grace as he could muster at four in the morning. He had been in his post for barely a few months, since the death of Arthur Plantagenet, and already the citizens of the English occupied town were running rings around him. Usually, it was drunk English soldiers harassing the locals, and at that hour of the morning, he was fully expecting the same. Windows broken, maidens taken by force, chickens stolen, or raucous parties that had lasted for a week. Same old, same old, he thought to himself as he opened the front door of his home.

He looked out into the darkness, shuddering violently against the assault of the freezing air, and found himself face to face with what looked like two royal grooms. He sighed deeply, and was about to enquire of their business, when the taller of the two rudely talked over him.

"His Majesty's an hour's ride away," he blurted out, panting for breath. "You must keep the city gates open for him, and be ready to rally the townsmen. This is an emergency!"

"The – the king!" Lord Maltravers spluttered. His jaw dropped open, and as they grooms turned to run back to their horses, he had to reach out and drag one of them back. "Now, just wait a minute. I was not expecting the King!"

"Well, he's here," the groom retorted hotly. "Now cease wasting time, and do as I command!"

"If this is a hoax," Maltravers warned, lowering his voice dangerously. "I will have you flayed to the bone!"

The groom drew himself up to his full height, eyes narrowed to slits as he glowered at the Governor. His colleague, sensing trouble, tried to place a placatory hand on his elbow, but he was shrugged off easily. The glowering one leaned forwards to within kissing distance of Maltravers:

"If you pay me no heed, and just go back to your bed, I will have your head on a spike by noon!"

The two grooms were soon swallowed by the darkness, and Maltravers was left standing, still in his nightshirt, in the porch. After taking a moment to compose himself, he rushed indoors, dressed in a hurry, and went to rally the guards and ensure the gates were still open for the King and his men.

* * *

><p>King Henry breathed as sigh of relief as his horse galloped at speed towards the town of Calais. He dug his spurs into the animal's flanks, urging him on even faster now that the end of their journey was in sight. The gates were open, and the guards were already mounted, ready to follow him as he entered.<p>

Within minutes, he was home and dry in Calais before the dawn had even broken. He reached the nearest garrison and immediately dismounted. His horse was exhausted, and he swapped it over for a fresh one, not waiting for the stable boy to do it for him. Once mounted again, he spurred the horse out into the town, and up to the town hall, where Maltravers was duly waiting for him, a look of intense relief on his face.

"Your Majesty," Maltravers bowed deeply to the King. "Will you be sailing immediately?"

"Yes," Henry replied gruffly as he dismounted. He pulled Maltravers into the building. "If Northumberland passes this way, arrest him on sight. But, I doubt he is stupid enough to come this way. All the same, have it in mind. Are the ships ready to sail?"

"They will be within the hour, Your Grace," answered Maltravers. "You'll be sailing under cover of darkness still, have no fears there."

"How many ships in total?"

"Forty, Your Grace."

"Excellent," Henry finally looked satisfied. "I need every soldier and man at arms to set sail with me. This town will be as good as undefended, but England's need is greater now, my friend."

Maltravers was not about to contradict the King. Instead, he rasped a few commands out to the nearest guards, and immediately they jumped too, forming a protective ring about the King as they escorted him to the first of the ships.

"Your Majesty," Maltravers called out before the King could depart. "I have another twenty merchant ships in dock. I shall send them out to patrol the channel."

"Good man," replied Henry with a nod of approval. Normally, legislation was needed to requisition merchant ships, but these were no longer normal circumstances. With that, the final leg of Henry's homeward journey began, and already the seeds of a plan were beginning to sprout in his mind.

* * *

><p>Lady Mary clung on tight to Edmund as they galloped through the open countryside around Northamptonshire. She was unaccustomed to being a passenger on a horse, and it was doing her temper no favours. She knew she ought to be thanking Edmund on bended knee, and praising God for delivering her from the jaws of almost certain death. But her emotions were dictating otherwise, and it was something she could neither excuse nor explain.<p>

They had stopped for a brief rest at a tavern, and Lady Katherine had kindly provided Mary with the cloak off her own back to keep warm. Edmund wrapped her in one of his own jackets, and Louis had plied her with spiced wine to warm her inside. She had been shown kindness that was above and beyond the call of duty from any of them. But her nerves were so jangled, her mood so turbulent, she hardly dared open her mouth.

"You're in shock, Your Grace," Katherine had rationalised Mary's temper as they left the tavern to take to the road again. "It is small wonder, what with Brandon being your own cousin!"

Mary did not need to be reminded of that, but perhaps the girl was right? Mary couldn't tell black from white, as she was so tired, never mind analyse her mental state. As they rode on through the breaking dawn, Mary merely clung tight to Edmund, her arms wrapped around his middle, and her face resting against his back as his horse carried them both homewards.

"My Lady," said Edmund to Mary as he held out his hand to help her down from the horse.

They had dismounted in some woodlands to give their horses some rest. The sun was full in the sky, although it shed almost no warmth. They could see clearly all around them, and there was a stream mercifully sheltered by the trees from the frost, and the horses could drink as much as they needed.

Mary slid down from the saddle, and stumbled as she hit the ground. Edmund caught her in his open arms but to steady herself again, she had thrown her arms around his neck. They stood clasping each other like two lovers', causing Mary such acute embarrassment that she pushed him away almost violently.

Edmund was crestfallen. "Forgive me," he spluttered. "I did not mean …" his words trailed off into an awkward silence.

"Did not mean to do what?" snapped Mary as she walked around to the other side of the horse, putting a physical barrier between them.

Edmund was strongly reminded of his brothers while Mary was in this mood, and he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. She had changed since he had last seen her, and unlike Lady Katherine, he thought it was more than just shock.

To get himself away from her, he led the horse to the stream himself, and struck up conversation with the guards and his guide. Behind them, a the whole army of one hundred men assembled. The trouble was, it was not exclusively their army. Something that Lady Katherine noticed with a painful jolt to the heart.

"Louis," she whispered in his ear as their horses drank eagerly from the stream. "Those soldiers over there are wearing the Brandon livery. His tunic slipped, and I saw it. They're hiding among our men."

Louis looked over his horses arched neck, following the line of Katherine's gaze. He could see that one man clearly had the badge of the enemy exposed beneath a tunic that was meant to conceal it. If there was one, there were bound to be others lurking, ready to spring into action at the first signal. It was a risky, desperate battle tactic, but not one unknown.

"Whatever you do, don't panic. I'll tell Ed and the guards, you rally the men on this side of the bank," he instructed her in a low voice. "We must stick together and attack as one body."

He mounted his horse, and could see Edmund still in forced conversation with the guide. He managed to catch the boy's eye, and give the signal for him to remount his horse. He did so without hesitation.

"Brandon's men are here," Louis quietly relayed the news directly in Edmund's ear. "They're infiltrating our men, ready to attack at unaware."

"Have they been following us?" Edmund gasped, not daring to turn and see for himself.

"They must've been, but Kate and I are getting our men together, now," replied Louis. "Get Mary out of here now."

"No! I want to stay and help," he retorted hotly.

"Do as I say," Louis insisted. "We'll be fine. Get to the edge of the woods, and wait for Katherine. I am sending her after you, before they have a chance to strike."

Reluctantly, Edmund gave a nod of agreement. He looked far from happy with the situation, but could clearly see that Mary needed to be delivered to somewhere safer. He could see her milling around the horses at the edge of the stream, oblivious to the enemy working their way deeper into their camp. He walked his horse casually over to her.

"Get back on," he said to her.

"What?" she looked up at him, puzzled. "We only just got here."

"There is no time to explain," he said. "Just get back on this horse. We're leaving."

With a contemptuous sigh, Mary climbed back up into the saddle behind Edmund. It was then, from a higher vantage point, that she spotted the Brandon crest beneath some of the men's tunics. She swore under her breath, before immediately crossing herself. Edmund wasted no time in hanging around, and walked his horse onwards, away from the two intermingling armies. Even by the time he reached the path through the trees, he could see that the royal army were being successfully rallied to one side by Katherine and Louis. They had only moments to escape.

"How did we miss them?" Mary asked, sounding bewildered, as they began to canter.

"I was too busy being shouted at by you," replied Edmund. "And I think most of them had the sense to cover their badges before entering the camp."

Mary felt a fresh pang of guilt for her behaviour, but she did not have long to dwell on that. Two horse riders crashed out of the trees in front of them, and blocked their path. Edmund had to pull hard on the reins of his horse to avoid a head on collision, making the animal buck and rear up in anger.

"Whoa!" Edmund gasped, in an effort to sooth the animal, and a shrill scream escaped Mary's lips.

The other two riders casually dismounted from the horses, and took a step closer to them. Edmund recognised Henry Grey immediately, and he could guess who the woman at his side was. The realisation that he had led Mary straight into a trap exploded in his mind like primed saltpetre. The Brandon retainers had been used to flush Mary out of their own safe camp, and they probably had no intention of attacking at all.

"That was almost too easy," said Frances, her voice casual. The dash through the woods had barely caused the sweat to break on her brow.

* * *

><p>Queen Anne rode at the head of her army straight through Dover, rallying more men at arms as she went. Even Price Arthur played his part, and made his first ever public address from horseback after they had stopped at a small town. The people dashed out of their homes and flocked to see him. Soon, that enthusiasm turned to open support as the men grabbed pikes, pitchforks, and any other weapon that came to hand. No self-respecting Englishman was about to lie down and be walked over by a French army.<p>

A vast amount of support had come from the town of Hastings, the site of another famous battle against the French, and the men their seemed to determined that the outcome of this one would be very different. It lifted Anne's spirits, and emboldened the morale of her army as they wound trough the town, and out to the main port.

They lined up along the coast line, and looked out to sea. The horizon was awash with ships, their brilliant white sails almost indistinguishable against the sky. From there, they faced the enemy. Not twenty miles away lay France. Normandy, Calais, and Flanders. Calais was safe, but everywhere else could soon be crawling with the enemy.

Anne kept Prince Arthur at her side, always in her sight if she had to leave him. On her left was Jane Parker, her chief lady in waiting with whom she had been through so much. Now, both women knew they were facing their greatest battle of all. A foreign invasion.

Anne was about to speak with Jane, when suddenly a shout went up from further down the quay, followed by a storm of activity.

"The King! The King!"

Anne scanned the horizon, but all she could see was a plain merchant's ship. Then it dawned on her that Henry must have sailed incognito, to avoid the suspicion of any French ships that had been sent by Northumberland or Francis to patrol the channel.

"Is it really him?" Anne asked, grabbing the attention of one of her generals. "Has the King come home?"

"Is Papa home?" asked Arthur, unable to contain his excitement. "I want to see Papa in battle!"

"I will ride down now and find out," the General answered. "I'll send a messenger back up, Your Majesty."

Anne, eager to see Henry again, was not content to wait for a messenger. Instead, she gave the horse a nudge, and with Arthur and Jane following her, she went to see for herself. The Merchant Ship had fully docked, and men were spilling off in droves. If Henry really was on there, he would have been the first off.

"Can you see Papa?" asked Arthur. He craned his neck, struggling to see through the heavy crowds.

"Follow me," instructed Anne by way of response.

There was an excited gaggle of people just by the small wharf, all crowding around one person, and Anne could see who it was immediately. She laughed aloud with relief, and urged her horse forwards, forcing a path through the press of bodies, taking care not to push anyone off the harbour wall by accident.

She finally made it to the heart of the crowds, but Henry did not see her. He was greeting his people. After a few seconds, Arthur arrived at his mother's side, followed by Lady Jane. The crowds slowly fell into silence as they realised who she was, but Henry was still oblivious to her presence. She grinned from ear to ear, looking down at him.

"Your Majesty," said Anne, and her face split into a smile as wide and bright as the sky as Henry, finally, looked up at her.

"Anne," he said her name, his eyes widened with recognition. "Anne!"

She dismounted her horse in graceful movement, and landed in his open arms. He tilted her chin upwards, and kissed her as though he had never kissed her before.

* * *

><p>Edmund drew out his sword. The horse shifted restlessly, one foot to the other, beneath him, but his grip on the reins was tight. Behind him, Mary dug her nails into his sides as she clung like a limpet. He could feel her trembling like a leaf in a storm.<p>

"Hold on," he hissed from one corner of his mouth, low so that only Mary could hear. She gave no sign that she had.

Frances and Henry Grey walked closer to them, and the horse began to move backwards as though he sensed the danger himself.

"You're cornered," Henry Grey informed them. "You go back, and you're in a trap. You go forwards, with us."

"You tricked us," said Edmund, playing for time, walking the horse backwards. "You deliberately sent your men in that camp, just to flush us out."

"Not strictly true," Frances explained as she arranged her riding cloak. "You're an added bonus, but we were only aiming for the girl."

Then, Henry Grey held out his hands in a placatory gesture, and placed an arm around his wife's shoulders.

"Forgive my wife, my lord," said Henry, and he planted a kiss on Frances' forehead. "She speaks only in jest. We realise that you have nothing to do with this, and you're a foreign guest on these shores. The last thing you want is to be caught up in silly English fights."

Already, Edmund could tell where this conversation was heading. Up until that moment, he had been quivering with fear just as much as Mary, who's terror had rendered her speechless. But now, he could feel the beginnings of a reckless, every intensifying, surge of daring seizing hold of him.

"What are you saying?" he demanded to know.

"Hand the girl over, and we'll let you go unmolested," replied Henry Grey.

The shadow of irritation that passed across Frances' face betrayed his words as desperate lies. But, Edmund paused and thought for a moment.

"She has done nothing but scold me since we found her," Edmund explained as he sheathed his sword.

"Edmund," Mary hissed, low and dangerous, in his ear. "What are you doing?"

Edmund paid her no heed. "If you want her, my lord, take her."

Henry Grey stepped forwards, just as Edmund swung his leg over the saddle. As he did so, however, he delivered a hefty kick to the side of Grey's head, knocking him to the floor in a heap. Frances screamed in anger and lunged forwards, but Mary had quickly wised up to Edmund's rouse, and dug her heels into the horses' flanks, sending him surging forwards and forcing Frances to leap from their path or be trampled to death.

Edmund, with only one foot in the stirrups, clung desperately to the beasts' mane, while Mary had to lean over him and control the reins herself.

"Hold on!" she desperately urged him as they fled along the tracks through the woods. "Don't let go now!"

He succeeded for about a quarter of a mile before his grip on the horses' mane slipped, and he crashed to the ground, rolling over and over as he hit the ground at speed. Mary yanked as hard as she could on the reins, bringing the horse to another crashing halt. Before the animal had even properly stopped, she jumped from it's back and ran as fast as she could to where Edmund was now gingerly picking himself up from the ground.

"Are you all right?" she cried in a fearful panic, her eyes swimming with tears. Before she knew what she was doing, she had thrown her arms around his neck and pulled him into a close embrace, almost suffocating him.

"I will be all right," he answered falteringly, in shock at the turnaround in her attitude. He was soaked to the skin from landing in the snow, and his body ached all over from the horrendous fall. But with Mary, like that, he still felt wonderful.

* * *

><p>The King, Queen, and Prince were given lodgings in a local manor house. From here, all three would be co-ordinating the defence of the English coast. But, on his first day back in England, Henry had insisted upon dining alone with his wife and son. The three of them were closeted away in a small, intimate chamber, warmed by an open fire and excellent hospitality, as Anne informed Henry of everything that had occurred during his absence. Arthur listened, rapt with wide eyed awe.<p>

"People are searching every one of Grey's properties right now," Anne assured Henry.

"Then she is likely to be found already," he smiled. "You have done well, Anne."

"Really?" she asked, brow raised in scepticism.

Henry looked across the table at her, his face set and deadly serious.

"Anne, you have had more to deal with in this last month than most King's have in their entire reigns!"

People had taken advantage of his absence to take advantage of the Queen. He really thought that they would have known better than that by now. Henry's words seemed to hit home, and the tension in Anne's expression melted away, but she said no more.

"The French?" she asked, lifting a napkin and then letting it drop down again. "What about them?"

"They will not pass," Henry firmly stated. "Just take a look at the army. There are your men, and my men from Calais, and then there are the men returning from Bolougne. It is just a question of capturing Northumberland."

Anne was about to reply, but had a change of heart. She turned to the Prince Arthur instead.

"It is time for bed," she informed him.

"But mama!" he whined, unwilling to miss the adult conversation.

Henry leaned forwards in his seat. "Do as your mother commands. Or you dishonour her."

Henry had his no nonsense expression on, and Arthur knew better than to push his luck. Still, he made his displeasure known with just the most perfunctory kisses and hugs good night as he allowed himself to be led away by a household servant.

Alone again, Anne returned to what she had wanted to say earlier.

"If you only ever do one more thing for me in my life," she said, punctuating each word with a kiss on his lips. "Catch that whoreson Dudley alive. I want to watch him die with my own eyes."

Henry paused, a goblet of wine half way to his mouth, and regarded her affectionately. In return, Anne smiled sweetly.

"God's death, I missed you!" he laughed, dropping the goblet mindlessly, and throwing himself on top of Anne. He fully intended on ravishing her there and then. She laughed, relieved, and inflamed, and returned his kisses with aplomb. Now he was back, she knew that all would soon be well again.


	20. Call Of Duty

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, all your input is greatly appreciated. Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, events and certainly not the TV show.

Once again, thanks for reading. Please review!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty: Call of Duty.<strong>

That morning, Queen Anne had awoken in the arms of King Henry, and breathed in his familiar scent. His arms were wrapped around her waist, and she could feel the press of his body against hers. She was flushed from the shared body heat. All these sensations, and more, came rushing back to her then. She closed her eyes, and savoured every moment before duty called, and sent them both scattering from their marital bed.

Which was barely an hour after she woke. Following a hurried breakfast with Prince Arthur, the three of them were saddled and ready to ride back to the coast. Foreign ships had been spied off the coast, and when they arrived the soldiers were on high alert. All along the coast, beacons had burned over night, and the flames still lapped in broad daylight. The men at arms were ready to launch into their defence, should the enemy land. At sea, English ships patrolled all along the choppy waters.

"They won't be able to land, will they?" Anne asked Henry as he surveyed the coast through a spyglass. When she looked up at him, she was surprised to see that he was smiling. "Henry, what is it?"

"Habsburgs," he replied, still smiling. "The Emperor is actually upholding his promise."

He handed her the spyglass so she could see for herself. The ship's black sails stood out starkly against the brilliant white sky, and the coat of arms could be seen clearly. Even while Anne was still studying the ships, the alert was over and the men fell at ease. Anne lowered the spyglass, and squinted as her visual perspective suddenly shifted.

"Luxembourg!" she laughed. "It's not just Charles. It is Luxembourg."

"I don't care who it, as long as it's not the French!" Henry retorted, but the relief was evident on his face.

"Mother, can I see?" the Prince tugged at Anne's sleeve for a go with the spyglass. Anne handed it to him as she turned to embrace Henry.

"The French will come, my love," she whispered. "It is only a matter of time. We cannot let the men rest on their laurels for long."

"No, I know," he replied, looking her in the eye. "We're here, aren't we? Nothing and nobody can get past us!"

As they turned to withdraw into the nearby pavilion, a messenger approached at a jog from beyond the camp. His face was flushed, and his brow beaded with sweat from his exertions.

"Your Majesty, Philip of Luxembourg requests an audience," he puffed as he swept a bow to the King and Queen.

"Granted gladly!" Henry replied, clapping the man on the shoulder.

As they entered the tent, Philip was already in there waiting for them. Anne thought he looked strangely diminished without his brother, Otto, at his side. Philip bowed low to them both, suddenly stunned into a semblance of true humility now that he was before the King of England.

"Rise, and welcome to my Country," Henry greeted him. "My guess is we have you to thank for your realm's intervention on our behalf?"

Servants bustled around busily drawing up chairs, and fetching drinks for the four of them, including Prince Arthur who had after them inside the pavilion. Henry pulled his son into his lap, and cradled him there as though he were still only a babe. A fact not lost on Arthur, who flushed deeply.

"Forgive me if I seemed presumptuous," Philip replied to Henry once they had drinks and some food laid out before them. "Her Majesty did ask my brother and I to remain at the Palace, waiting for news of my other brother, Edmund. But when I heard of the French invasion, Otto and I could not stand by and do nothing. We wrote to the Emperor and our father for back up troops, and ships."

"And that was them arriving now?" asked Anne, nodding back towards the coast beyond the pavilion.

"Yes," answered Philip. "My brother, Otto, has also joined one of your ships to patrol the coast. He is an accomplished sea farer, and is eager to play his part in England's protection. Also, I have had some news."

"Of Edmund and Mary?" asked Henry, fixing Philip with an eager stare.

Philip's face fell slightly, giving the answer away. "Alas, not. I am sorry Your Majesty," he replied. "But, there has been word from one of the sailors from my brother's fleet. They trapped some French ships with the help of the Scots, and -"

"Sorry," Henry cut him off abruptly. "Did you say the Scots are helping us?"

Anne stifled a laugh. Philip looked blankly from Anne to Henry, as though wondering if there was an in joke he had missed.

"Yes, the Queen enlisted them," he replied as though it should have been obvious from the start. Henry looked at Anne in bewildered happiness, before turning back to Philip, and gesturing for him to continue. "The French thought that the Scots were on their side, so the Scots lured them into a trap, and the French were surrounded by the English within moments. Those ships have been seized, and can now be used against any more French ships that stray too far up the channel."

"Excellent work, My Lord," said Henry. "Listen, if you can get out on the sea yourself, all we need is John Dudley captured alive and handed over to the Queen and I. As soon as we have him, there is no need for Francis to waste his time and money attacking us. So no need for anyone else to get hurt."

"Exactly," Queen Anne chipped in. "Get Dudley to us, and they're defeated. No need for excessive bloodshed, and Francis will realise that. Can you do that for us?"

Philip lapsed into a silence as he thought through his strategy.

"We should be able to do it," he agreed at length. He rose to his feet, and bowed to the King and Queen, ready to do as they bid. Before he left, however, he turned and spoke to the King. "As for Edmund, Your Majesty, have no fear. He will find your beloved daughter, and have her returned before you get back to London."

Anne's opinion of Philip had always been middling to low. Now, he had risen a few notches. But still she found herself biting back a cutting retort about his prior treatment of Edmund. Instead, she smiled and kissed his cheek, thanking him for his efforts.

* * *

><p>The sun was almost warm. Lady Mary let her head rest against Edmund's chest as they rode towards London. They'd had to stop in another Tavern to rest over night, and let Edmund's leg heal after his fall from the horse. It hadn't done much good, and his ankle swelled to grotesque proportions. Riding was painful for him, so Mary took over the reins, and Edmund sat behind her.<p>

"We're nearly home," he said, pointing into the distance where the city walls snaked along the distant landscape. "Another hour or two, and we'll be back."

"My father," gasped Mary. She sat up straight again, remembering what she had heard Frances Brandon talking about during the carriage ride to Northamptonshire. "They're going to kill him."

"What?"

"No time," she replied, and dug her heels into the horses' flanks, spurring it into a gallop. Edmund had to hang on tight as the horse sped across the bumpy ground. Each jolt sent waves of pain through his injured leg.

"Would you please slow down?" he called out, turning pale with the pain. But Mary didn't stop until they were through the City gates.

The streets were mercifully quiet as they rode through the main thoroughfare, and the Cheapside. The market women were out as usual, and the whores spilled from the brothels at the seedier end of London, and it all seemed business as usual. But the aldermen were nowhere to be seen along the city wall's ramparts. The guards, too, were all but gone. Mary looked around, trying to spot the Tudor livery among the crowds, but spotted none.

"Let's just get back to Windsor," Edmund advised her. "We both need the rest, and the Queen will be waiting for us. Louis and Catherine should be back soon."

By late afternoon, they had entered the gates of the Castle of Windsor. It seemed a life time ago that Mary had stumbled into this road, almost getting knocked down my Louis of Bohemia's carriage, but in reality, it had been barely two weeks ago. She let her gaze rove over the lands, looking for signs of life in the grounds.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

Edmund had noticed it, too. He slid down from his horse, careful about landing on his bad foot, and called for a stable hand. After a minute, a kitchen boy turned up.

"Where are the stable hands?" Edmund demanded to know. The boy looked up at them both nervously.

"To the South, with the Queen," he answered in a tremulous voice. It was obvious he had not expected any of the "up stairs" folk to be crossing his path that evening.

"Why is the Queen south?" asked Mary as she jumped down from the saddle.

"To fight the French, I think?" the boy answered with a non-committal shrug of his narrow shoulders.

"What on earth is going on?" muttered Edmund. Ignoring the pain in his swollen foot, he strode indoors, with Mary trailing behind him.

"There must be someone here!" she cried out loud as she stiffly tried to keep pace with Edmund.

A few maids milled about here and there, but the Council was empty. The Royal Apartments were empty, and even the Great Hall was occupied only by house hold staff. None of them spoke to Mary and Edmund. They withdrew into the shadows at their approach, and made themselves as small as possible whenever any of Royal Family approached them unexpectedly.

Almost unconsciously, Mary reached for Edmund's hand, and gripped it tight for reassurance. She wet her dry, cracked, lips, and turned to look up at Edmund at her side. He looked exhausted, and as white as a ghost from his injured foot, But, he looked back at her and smiled anyway. She reached up and brushed a loose strand of dark hair from his eyes. He smiled wanly. She was about to give in to the urge to kiss him, when he spoke.

"Do not panic," he spoke softly. "We will find the Queen soon."

"Edmund, you can't," Mary protested. "Your foot."

"It will be fine," he assured her, squeezing her hand. "For you, it will be fine."

"Lady Mary!"

Both Edmund and Mary whirled around, and almost fainted with relief as Susan Clarencieux sped down the passageway outside the Great Hall. Even from a distance, Mary could see the tears glittering on Susan's cheeks.

"Susan!"

The two women collapsed in each other's arms, and held each other tight. Mary finally felt like she had come home, and found herself sobbing openly into Susan's shoulder.

"Praise God you're home!" Susan choked, still gripping her mistress tight. "I thought that I would never see you again"

Edmund watched them for a second, the wan smile fading from his lips. Quietly, he retreated into the Great Hall, giving them some privacy. Finally, they would be able to get proper answers, some much needed food, and rest. But dauntingly, it seemed, even more tribulations lay ahead for them both. Edmund simply couldn't shake the nauseating feeling that this was not the end.

* * *

><p>John Dudley lay flat on his back on the floor of his cabin as the ship swayed and pitched on the stormy seas. Even this close to the coast, the waves still rocked the boat, and made him vomit every ten minutes. He cursed the frailties of the human body, and tried to sit up again. He couldn't lie there all day and night, no matter how beneficial it was supposed to be.<p>

Just as he got unsteadily to his feet, the cabin door flew open.

"Don't bother to knock, will you!" he snapped at the messenger, who leaned against the frame for support.

"The Scots are leading us ashore, now," the messenger informed the Duke, unperturbed by Northumberland's ire.

"When will that be?"

"Soon Your Grace."

With that, the man left, and Dudley sent up a silent prayer of thanks. He had always hated boat journeys, but it was more than sea sickness that ailed him, now. Putting trust in the French was always a double edged sword, and now the Scots were sticking their nose in, it was all getting beyond his control. But, as his commander assured him, the Scots and French always teamed up against the English. It would benefit them all, in the end.

Cautiously, he made his way up on deck. They were close to land, now, and safely surrounded by a flotilla of Scots' ships. There were other unmarked ships, too. Merchant vessels captured by mercenary pirates working for either Scotland or France. At that moment, Dudley didn't care, so long as they got he and his men safely landed on English soil.

Once on deck, he was able to make contact with the Earl of Angus, on the ship opposite theirs. He knew the man well from seeing him about Henry's Court.

"My Lord!" he called out, once their vessels were close enough. "Are you ready to dock?"

"Aye, Your Grace," was the response. "There's a secluded beach we're headed to, further up the coast. Henry won't have a clue until it's all too late!"

"Then we'll follow you!" he had to shout as loud as he could to be heard over the wind that still blew the sea into a tumult of spray and iron waves. "Godspeed!"

Dudley turned his face into the wind, and looked towards the shore that now seemed to rush ever closer to them. "Home," he whispered into the wind. The small sailing boats that would take them ashore were winched down from the bulky warship's rigging. Eagerly, he jumped into the first one, ready to lead his men to the beach landings.

* * *

><p>Under the cover of darkness, Queen Anne and King Henry sat in silence, listening to the waves crash against the shingle on the beach. They gripped each other's hands, straining for the sounds of any approaching ships. The beach was perfect. Secluded, and out of the way of the main ports. The earl of Angus had been the one to suggest as it as the perfect trap for Dudley and his army.<p>

"What was that?" Anne asked for tenth time, as she thought she heard something. It was almost impossible to see, now that the beacons here had been extinguished to keep their cover. Now, every sound seemed to be something ominous.

"Patience, sweetheart," Henry whispered back in her ear. "We'll know when they get here."

But the wait was getting to them both. The seconds dragged into minutes, and what felt like hours sat on the freezing cold beach in late December. But finally, the whisper of the arrival rippled around the army of men at arms who lay concealed about the broad beach. They hid behind jutting rocks, and some had even all but buried themselves in the sand for cover. Anne had to admire their ingenuity.

Anne peered out from behind the rocky outcrop she and Henry were concealed behind. She could just make out the lantern lights on a ship that had sailed into the bay. Soon, smaller rowing boats were being half rowed, and half tossed on large waves towards the lip of the beach. She couldn't tear her gaze away as the men in the boats waded ashore. She recognised the earl of Angus's thick Scots' accent, and her blood ran cold as she heard a replying voice. That of John Dudley. Finally, he had walked into their trap. She felt Henry's cold lips press against her even colder cheek.

"Get ready," he whispered. "Now!"

Everything seemed to happen at once. A flint was struck and the beacons lit, flooding the whole beach in light. Men at arms sprang out of the ground, and had the Duke surrounded, their pikes pointed at his chest. He froze, unable to believe what he was seeing. Just as he was about to turn on the Earl, he realised that he had been duped. The curse froze on his lips, however, when both Anne and Henry stepped in front of him.

"Your Grace," Anne greeted him, a sneer on her lip. "So glad you made it home in one piece!"

Dudley's reply was cut off by Henry.

"Guards, seize him, Take him to the Tower!"


	21. An Honest Woman

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, your input means a lot, so thanks! The usual disclaimers apply here. I own none of the characters, events, and certainly not the TV Show.

Thanks for reading, and your reviews/comments would be most welcome.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Twenty<span> One: An Honest Woman.**

The morning after the arrest of Northumberland, Queen Anne, with Henry and the Prince at her side, stepped outside. She took a deep breath of coastal sea air, and admired the rugged coastlines. The lush green pastures rolled off into the distance, under the opalescent skies. She, and the whole army were in buoyant mood. Today, their homeward journey would begin.

To make things better, Northumberland's capture had proved to be the first of two strokes of good luck for Anne and Henry. By the time they were ready to leave Dover with the army, the ships carrying Charles Brandon, and Thomas Howard had docked. They had delayed their departure so that the armies of the two Dukes could team up with the official Royal Army. Together, they amounted to thousands. The only problem was, and both Henry and Anne were painfully aware of it, they were all concentrated in the wrong part of England.

"We still need to make haste back to London," said Anne as she and Henry were assisted with mounted their horses.

Anne had been gifted a proper war horse for the journey back to London. The creature was huge, but fast, and almost tireless. It's strength herculean. Henry was mounted already, but fidgeting with his horse's bridle.

"If we leave the Prince with the Countess of Devon and some men, they can follow us home at a slower pace," Henry suggested. "That way, we can ride through the night. We'll be back in London by tomorrow afternoon."

"What about him?" she nodded to a tumbrel in which Northumberland was manacled and chained up like a beast being taken to the markets for slaughter. He wasn't given so much as a blanket to hide himself under. His procession home would be a parade through the streets, for the public to point and stare at. An exhibition of treason.

"I'm in half a mind to drag him back to London on a hurdle strapped to the arse of this horse," Henry laughed. "Failing that, I don't care, so long as he is alive when he gets there. I want to watch this one die myself."

"Fair enough!" retorted Anne. "I don't mind if I join you on Tower Green."

"The bastard tried to poison me, you know!"

The King and Queen lapsed into banter as they waited for the two Dukes to join them. Together, they would ride at the head of their vast army, all the way to London. Anne dismounted her war horse to kiss Prince Arthur goodbye. He'd kicked up a storm at being left to trail behind the main army, and only a warning glance from Henry had brought him back into line.

"Arthur," said Henry, in that warning tone that drove Anne mad with a wicked lust, but scared the wits out of the children. "Obey your lady mother, or explain the reasons for disobedience to me."

"Aww Henry, you never talk to me like that any more," said Anne, winking at Henry as she got back in the saddle.

He shot her a look of feigned sternness. "Just wait till I get you home, madam!"

Anne dissolved into helpless laughter. The sun was shining, a marked improvement over the last few months, the enemy was almost defeated, and she finally felt like she had something to laugh about. A few minutes later, they were joined by the dukes, and they were ready for the off. The standards were raised high. The army amassed. The sound of the horns rent the air, and as one giant monster, the army took off at a gallop. The air filled with the thunderous beating of a thousand hooves. They were not stopping until they reached London.

* * *

><p>Mary soaked her aching limbs in a hot bath prepared for her by Susan Clarencieux and Mary Lascelles. Some camomile had been added to help her relax, and drain the tension from her knotted muscles. After days on the roads, in captivity, and on the roads again, easing herself into the piping hot water felt like entering the gates of heaven. She inhaled the aromatic steam with relish, she closed her eyes and drifted off into her own world for a few luxurious minutes.<p>

"Susan," said Mary, opening one eye and fixing it on Susan. "Pass me some of my soap. I deserve a treat."

"Of course, Your Grace."

As she unlocked a small chest containing Mary's expensive toiletries, Susan instructed Mary Lascelles to leave the room to attend the bed chamber, where their mistress would rest after her bath. But in truth, Susan needed to speak with Lady Mary alone.

"You don't know if Frances is caught, yet?" she asked, once they were alone again.

"No, and that's why Edmund is so worried," Mary explained. "We have heard nothing from Louis and Lady Katherine-"

"She's a wanton wench," observed Susan disapprovingly. "That man was all over you when he first arrived here."

She had taken to referring to Louis as "that man" since learning of his scandalous affair with Katherine. But Mary, who sat up to let Susan scrub her down properly, was more philosophical.

"No, not really," she replied. "He was only doing what he was ordered to do. At least what he has with Katherine is real. Not that I wasn't annoyed when I first found out."

"The Howard's will be thrilled. One of their own making connections with European Royalty. Next they'll be seeking world domination with their enormous brood," Susan laughed.

"Somehow, I doubt Louis' father will be quite so pleased," said Mary, drawing a finger across her throat in an intimation of beheading. Susan sniggered, almost dropping the precious soap.

"Let's just hope that Brandon and her infernal husband do not get to him first."

"Oh, I don't know. You know what these ancient European patriarchs are like. It might be a kindness if the Brandon's get to him first!"

* * *

><p>Edmund hastily sponged himself down and changed into fresh clothes. Breeches, clean shirt and a warmer surcoat, before running up to the Castle watch tower. He couldn't let himself rest until he knew that Frances Brandon and Henry Grey were safely captured and removed from society. With both the King and Queen out of the city, and the Council with them, London was vulnerable to any attack, especially ones from within.<p>

The winter light was still poor, meaning visibility was bad, even in the watch towers. But what little he could see was unhindered by any other buildings. The vantage point was a good one. But even as he paced the rotunda, he wondered what on earth he would do even if there was a sudden assault on the capital. There were a handful of soldiers left to guard the Tower, but the Tower had been emptied of cannon and guns first for the King's campaign in France, and then for the invasion. There was little left over to defend the capital with, even if he did have the men.

At sundown, however, the news finally came. A company of men had marched through the gates of London. Scouts were sent out to identify them, and when they returned after the fall of darkness, the news could well have been come from the angels. Louis was back, and with his army in tow. Edmund rode out to greet them immediately.

The citizens of London had crowded around the returning soldiers before they could even make it onto the Cheapside. The constant comings and goings of vast numbers of troops and men-at-arms was disrupting their trade, and impeding their suppliers and couriers. They were losing money, and that meant war on anyone in an official looking uniform.

"Please, you must let us through. We're on the Queen's business," pleaded Katherine as she tried to lead her horse through the throng. But hundreds of grubby hands gripped the bridles of their horses, and blocked their path.

"The Boleyn whore!"

Someone at the back of the crowd bellowed, causing peals of laughter from the rest of surly mob. Beneath the laughter, however, the mood was tense, and the people's tempter at breaking point. But Louis urged Katherine on with an encouraging nod. Anger can be harnessed into any direction, given the right encouragement.

"Oh, so Her Majesty is back to being a whore now, is she?" Katherine snapped, looking them all in the eye. "You weren't calling her that when she was defending your right to free trade, and the King was placing blockades on cheap foreign imports!"

Some had the decency to look a little abashed, but the heckler had scored some cheap points all the same. But Katherine was not to be deterred. She drew on her Howard stubborn streak, her family recklessness, and obstinacy to get their own way, and ploughed on.

"Look, you can obstruct our path all you like," she shouted, trying to make herself heard above the din. "But soon, there may well be another army, and an enemy army at that, arriving at our City's gates any moment. Then you'll really have something to complain about. So why not join us?"

"And exactly who is supposed to be invading us now?" asked a beefy armed woman, hands on hips and disbelief in her eyes. "A few days ago it was the French, now it's someone else. You're making this up!"

The cheers and jeers were suddenly cut off as another voice joined the babble of confusion. A another man, on horseback, was just managing to cut through the crowds. Louis and Katherine both felt their spirits lift when they recognised the new comer as Edmund.

"She is right!" Edmund called out to them as he finally made it to Katherine's side. "We're all in danger, now. Let these men through, and we will do what we can to protect your homes and businesses. Where are the City Liverymen?"

"Why?" a man at his side asked.

Edmund wanted to throttle him, but instead explained it again. "Because we're coming under attack, you dolt!"

"From who?" the man persisted.

"From the French, idiot!" the beefy armed woman answered.

"No!" Louis finally decided to try his luck in talking sense to the people. "From the Marquis of Dorset and his wife. They have an army, and they want to kill the Lady Mary, and take the throne for themselves!"

"He's right," Edmund confirmed. "Although the French may be coming, too." He added uncertainly. Even he was losing track of the machinations of English politics.

The faces all around them were now creased in confusion. Memories were short in this city, and threats were commonplace. They all had trouble keeping up with who was an enemy of who, at any one given moment. It blurred into a cloud of intrigue that left them largely unaffected. Either way, something pricked at their senses, and they began to back off from the company of soldiers that surrounded Louis and Katherine.

"We'll defend our City from all comers," a man said, making it plain he spoke for the whole mob. "If what you say is right, you can rely on us. But if this is a ploy from those at the Palace, there'll be hell to pay! The King will have to look elsewhere for his taxes if this is some scaremongering trick!"

Once the man spoke, the crowds dispersed with grumbles of agreement for what their self-appointed spokesman had said. But the air was still thick with hostility. On top of the armies riding roughshod through their markets, the army was being led by two foreigners. Something the people of London distrusted even more. Katherine's shoulders sagged with relief once her path was clear, and she able to rejoin Louis and Edmund. The rest of the men advanced towards the Tower, leaving the three of them to plan their next move.

"What happened to Frances and Grey?" Edmund asked as they passed freely through the streets of London. "We were attacked by them after we left the camp, but Mary and I fought them off. Haven't seen them since".

"They were regrouping their troops in Northamptonshire as we left," Louis replied. "We couldn't attack them there, not enough men."

"We had fatalities in the route by the riverside," Katherine chipped in. "Eight men left dead by Brandon's retainers."

"Any enemy losses?" Edmund asked.

"There were some, but I didn't count them," Louis explained. "But they're going to attack this city any moment now. We all need to be on our guard."

"Perhaps they will come at dawn, when we're most likely to be off guard?" Katherine asked. "That's what I would do."

"I think she's probably right, Ed," Louis agreed. "We need to get into position over night. Where is the Queen?"

Edmund looked back over his shoulder, and watched as the ordinary citizens of London began to mobilise. He looked at the pikes, the pitchforks, and the everyday implements that were being put to more dangerous use. They may as well have been riding into battle armed with toothpicks. He turned his doleful gaze back to Louis.

"The Queen is fighting in the South," he said. "Apart from that rabble, we're as good as defenceless."

* * *

><p>The night was a long one in which news filtered quickly down a chain of command before reaching Louis, Edmund, Katherine and Mary. The four of them were ensconced in Windsor, waiting for the dawn to come, or news of an enemy sighting. They drank warmed wine to keep their spirits up, and relieved the thick tension with stiff jokes, and satire. Soon, however, the subject of the impending battle reared it's head.<p>

"We have almost no weapons, and few trained men," Lady Mary said as she looked out of the window. Beacons burned in the distance, but she could not really see anything. "There is no sign of the King or Queen. They could be dead, for all we know. Northumberland could be riding through the South, raising an even bigger army. What do you think our chances are?"

"If Northumberland has invaded, I wouldn't like to speculate," Louis reasoned. "But if he had, I think we'd know by now. But just in case, there is something I want to do before I die."

"Which is?" asked Edmund, who was sat on the floor by the dying fire. He redirected his gaze from the flames, up to Louis who was standing over him, now.

"I want to make a woman honest," he replied.

"What?"

"What I mean is, and the final decision is entirely Katherine's, is that I would like to die a happily married man," explained Louis.

Katherine had been sitting beside Lady Mary, and reading verse to one another. She set down the poetry book that was in her hands, and stood up to face Louis. Her fair complexion suddenly reddened.

"Are you being serious?" she asked.

He nodded, and crossed the room. He laced his fingers through hers. Two bright smiles lit their faces as they gazed deeply into each other's eyes.

"Marry me," he whispered. "Marry me now."

* * *

><p>The Chaplain was less than pleased to be dragged from his bed at three in the morning. But, at Lady Mary's command, he did it. Lady Mary Lascelles, and Lady Susan Clarencieux were summoned from their chambers, and even a few of the Palace servants were rustled up to make up numbers in the tiny chapel. The nice beeswax candles were lit, and the clouds of incense perfumed the air. But out of necessity, the ceremony was a short one. The Chaplain, a friend of Mary's by the name of Bilney, got straight on to the vows.<p>

"Do you, Louis, take this woman, Katherine, to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do."

"Do you promise, before God, to be faithful to her, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

The ceremony had a romance of it's own. The bride and groom were wearing the same clothes they had been wearing for a week. Half of the guests were strangers to them both. They didn't even have their own rings (but one had been borrowed from Lady Mary, and another from Edmund).For all they knew they could be dead by tomorrow. But the candlelit service, the brief nuptial mass, and the incense gave the ceremony a warmth of it's own. In the glowing light, the tears of happiness still glittered like gilt as they slid down Lady Katherine's cheeks.

As Katherine took her vows, Mary looked at the man standing beside her, and found that he was looking back at her. Edmund smiled, and Mary took his hand in hers. The words 'I love you' were on her lips. But for now, as the ceremony concluded, they had to stay there.

"I declare you man and wife, and what God has put together, no man may tear asunder."

* * *

><p>The dawn broke slowly over London. A thin pearl of light that grew and spread, expanding outwards over the city, to reveal the land from beneath the shroud of night. The newly weds, Mary and Edmund all took to the streets to watch out for the enemy, but were barely beyond Windsor when the first of a long line of messengers came sprinting up to them.<p>

"They're here," he puffed, clutching at a stitch in his side. "They came during the night."

"Do you know how many?" Louis asked, and stepped closer to the man.

"Hundreds. Only in the hundreds, but more than we think the city can handle."

"Is the river blockaded?" Edmund asked. "We must get the river blockaded if it isn't already."

"It's too late, Sir. They have already come up the river, and they're taking up position within the City itself."

There was a moment of tense silence as they weighed up their options. But the situation was worse than they could possibly have expected. Mary, however, suddenly lost her temper.

"Why on earth was the river not blockaded?" she stormed at the hapless messenger. "It should have been the first step to securing the city!"

"Look, it's no good fighting," Katherine interjected. She turned to the man. "Is there any sign of either Frances Brandon, or Henry Grey? Are they in the City?"

"We don't know, madam."

"Blockade the river now, so whoever is here is trapped, and so that no more can get in that way," Louis instructed. "Keep an eye out for the Royal Army; they could show up at any moment, and needless to say, do let them in!"

"Go!" Mary commanded. "See that these orders are carried out now!"

The man bowed low to Mary, and turned to run back the way he came, towards the city centre. Once he was out of sight, the four of them huddled around in a circle. Altogether, they began babbling out ideas at once.

"I say we comb the streets and hunt then down..."

"Stay and defend the Palace.."

"To the Tower, I say.."

"One at a time, please!"

They all fell silent, and each looked at the other. Then, Louis decided to go first.

"Ladies, you go back to the Palace, and keep that Portcullis raised. Admit no one unless you know for sure who they are. That Palace must be protected at all costs."

"And what will you do?" Mary asked, looking desperately at Edmund.

"I think Louis and I should take to the streets with the men we have, and try to smoke out the enemy that have infiltrated the City walls," he replied.

"And I agree with him," Louis concurred. "There will be running street battles this way, but it would avoid a full on fielded battle."

"Is that easier?" asked Katherine, her eyes wide and fearful now.

In a battle like this, the enemy could jump out at any moment, and catch them off guard. It was perilous, and unpredictable. But Louis wasn't about to tell Katherine that.

"It'll be fine!" he said, a little over brightly.

"Then Lady Katherine and I will do as you ask," said Lady Mary. She had recovered from the shock of the invasion, and regained her composure. She held herself straight, and looked them all in the eye. "With God as my witness; this city will not fall on my watch."

Edmund's admiration for Mary shot up as he looked at her, and saw the pride and dignity with which she held herself at that moment. He had not seen it before, when she was just out of captivity. But now he could see why the nobility of Europe spoke so highly of her. He could see that it wasn't just out of sympathy for what had happened to her mother.

"That's agreed, then," Louis stated. He seemed happier now that they had a solid plan of action.

The girls nodded. Katherine and Louis side stepped away to say a private goodbye, leaving Mary and Edmund standing there, facing one another. Mary dropped her gaze to her feet.

"Well," she said, trying for all she was worth to act naturally. "I guess we will see each other when this is all over, one way or another."

"Make that a promise," he replied. "And it will give me something worth fighting for."

Mary laughed, and looked back up at him, the smile froze on her lips as she looked into his eyes. She knew it was time to leave. She tried to walk away. But as she soon as she took one step, she whirled around and rushed to throw her arms around his neck. This sudden rush of affection took him by surprise; it took a moment for him to realise what had happened. Carefully, he placed his arms around her back.

"Take care, Edmund," she pleaded. She lifted her head to look him in the eye again. "Come home safe."

Edmund said nothing, he was too preoccupied with what he was about to do. He closed his eyes, and kissed her lips. Mary gasped, she shivered in his arms, but the tremor was gone in seconds. She melted into his embrace, and returned his kiss. Soft at first, but the kiss drew out for far longer than any chaste, platonic kiss. When they drew apart, he saw thin, glittering, tear tracks on her pale cheeks.


	22. The Fight For London

**Author's Note:** As always, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, because your input means a lot. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this.

Please read and review, thank you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Two: The Fight For London<strong>.

The streets of London were almost silent. The early mists had lifted, and now a weak morning light lit the alley ways, and cobblestones. The sky overhead was heavy with the promise of rain, and Edmund and Louis could barely see a few feet around them. Making matters worse, the ground was wet, and the mud churned making it harder for the horses. Just one advantage was theirs. The people had mobilised the city for action.

The river was now blockaded, preventing any more river traffic and blocking access to the enemy. Armed citizens were now manning each of the cities gates; watching for both enemy troops, and the return of the King and Queen. Although poorly equipped, and low on men, they were ready for the enemy attack.

Before the enemy had a chance to attack, however, they needed a plan of defence. They had a personal army of just over one hundred, and the a whole city to flush out and scour clean of traitors. Both Edmund and Louis knew that strategy was going to play an equal role to brawn in this fight. So the two of them dismounted their horses, and huddled together to arrange a plan.

"Do you think we could divide our men into two groups, and split up?" Edmund asked.

"I don't know if I like the idea of you going off without me,"replied Louis, eyebrow arched.

Edmund sighed. "But I took Mary, didn't I?" he asked, resentful at being treated like a child again. He thought that he'd done more than enough to prove himself. "I brought her back to London safely, so why do you think I cannot do this?"

Louis could think of a hundred reasons, but he could see the logic in it, too. "We'll be able to comb the city at twice the speed, as well," he reasoned.

"So let me do it?" pleaded Edmund.

Louis thought on it for a second. He was far from happy, but found himself relenting nevertheless. "Very well," he finally replied. "We'll split the men, fifty-fifty, you search east of the river, and I'll go west."

Edmund allowed himself a small triumphant smile. Although nervous about the loss of such a formidable fighter, he knew that if pushed he too could hold his own. Before Louis could change his mind, Edmund mustered the men about them. The process did not take long, as there troops were depleted. With a final nod to Louis, Edmund and his section of the troops turned their mounts, and headed for Tower bridge.

* * *

><p>Frances Brandon exchanged one final kiss with Henry, and lowered herself on to her belly to crawl under the portcullis of Windsor Castle. Her gown and cloak got wet and dirty from for her efforts, but she was long past caring about appearances. Once she was safely inside, she raised the hood of her cloak, and lowered it down over her face so that what few guards remained would not be able to see her face.<p>

"Frances!" Henry called out to her before she could disappear from his sight.

"What?" she turned back to face him.

"Just kill her this time," he instructed her. "Waste no more time, and then bring her body outside for the people to see."

"I know what I am to do, Henry!" she snapped, but immediately regretted it. "I am sorry, My Lord. The pressure is getting to us all."

"I know," he replied softly, pressing himself against the portcullis. "But what if they know we're here? They know about our forces, just look at what the people have done!"

He gestured towards the city, where the people were now taking to the streets with weapons. Looking for them and their men. Frances' gaze followed the direction Henry was pointing in.

"Just get to the Tower, and once you have got control of the fortress, you will be in charge of the defences, too. None of this will matter, my love," she said, turning back to face him.

Frances smiled, went up to him, and kissed his lips through the bars of the portcullis. "Goodbye, my love."

Entering the Castle alone was not ideal. But there was no other way. Their retainers were dispersed throughout the city, ready to quell any trouble from the citizens; should it occur. Getting a man inside, and a wanted man at that, would be nigh on impossible. A lone woman would always go unchallenged, no matter what was happening outside. But all the same, Frances was keen to obscure her face and ducked out of sight at the approach of every pair of approaching footsteps.

More than once, a menial or servant would pass her after she had ducked into an alcove. She would wait for the echoes of the footsteps to recede from her range of hearing, then take off down the corridors again, walking at twice the speed to make up for lost time. This was one mission she needed to get over and done with as quickly as possible.

The Queen's apartments were empty, but heavily guarded by two men. She did not expect that Mary would be in there, anyway. Frances slipped down a side alley, one that led to Lady Mary's privy apartments. There she found Lady Mary Lascelles, but she was of no interest to Frances. She was about to give up, until she remembered the solar where the royal family tended to congregate at times of trouble.

Frances slipped through the empty galleries unhindered. The whole place seemed to be all but empty. Even the King's chambers only had one guard on the door. But Frances was careful to remain out of sight, and started using the servant's entrance to move about the Castle unimpeded. After a few short minutes, Frances finally reached her destination. She pressed her ear against the door, and listened to the voices that drifted out from behind the doors, and smiled. Mary was one, but clearly she had company.

* * *

><p>Edmund, with a few of his men following, brought his horse to a halt just off a market place not far from the banks of the Thames. Silently, he and the others crept over to a harbour wall, and climbed over to the other side to conceal themselves. They had spotted what was meant to be an ambush party loitering nearby. They all wore Henry Grey's livery. This was the first large gathering of rebel retainers they had seen all morning, and it was clear from their numbers that their job was an important one.<p>

"Over there," whispered Edmund to his second in command. "There's about twenty of them milling around that empty stall."

The man levered himself up onto his knees, and (peering over the top of the wall) looked in the direction Edmund had indicated. He spotted them straight away. He lowered himself back down, careful to avoid the dirty Thames waters that now lapped dangerously close to them. The rain that had started was bad enough, but the Thames was pure poison. If they slipped in, they'd be dead by afternoon.

"I say we strike now, before they have a chance to get away," the general advised. "We can't stay here because the river will soak us."

Edmund was cautious. "We need to get as close as possible without them noticing. How can we do it?"

Both men now chanced a look around. The market place was closed for business because of the interruptions from the armies, so there were no crowds for them to mingle with in an attempt to get close enough for an attack. Nor were there the usual barrows, carts or horses to help. It was a wide open space, with just a few skeleton stalls to hide behind. The citizens, too, had drifted west. They were all but alone with this motley crew of retainers.

"If we go charging out; chances are they'll just run for it," the general explained. "Plus, we need to take at least one alive, so we can find out where Grey is, and what his next step will be."

Edmund flinched. Anyone they caught alive would not speak willingly, so that meant extracting a confession, and the thought of that made his stomach lurch horribly. Part of him hoped they would all be finished off out right, rather than him having to watch that.

"We'll just have to do the best we can," the general shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing else for it."

They all drew their swords, and clambered back over the wall. They left their horses tethered where they had left them, the hoofs would only blow their cover if they tried to close in on the rebels on horseback.

The men, with Edmund in the middle, all paced forwards in a long line, standing abreast of one another. But, as Edmund could have guessed, they didn't even manage to advance a few yards before they were detected. One of the men in Grey livery pointed them out; up went a cry and the men scattered.

"Bloody cowards!" one of Edmund's men hissed. "Make chase!"

But Edmund wasn't listening. Without even thinking, he pelted after the rebels. Sword still drawn, ready to strike the moment he caught up with them, he sprinted as fast as he could. A few seconds later, and the rest were following him.

"Split up!" Edmund roared over his shoulder. Their quarry had scattered in all directions, and so must they.

* * *

><p>Lady Mary watched out of the window, and felt useless. She had never been good at the waiting game; much preferring to take matters into her own hands. But, someone had to defend the Palace. If Windsor were to be taken, and no back up troops were forthcoming, then they were as good as defeated.<p>

So she, along with Katherine Howard, sat in the solar of the Castle, and talked idly to pass the time. Occasionally, one of them would rise and cross to the window, to see if there was any sign of a street battle. So far, they had seen nothing of interest. The streets of the city looked deserted, the river was blockaded, so even the Thames was empty of all river traffic now. But, at least no more rebels could get in via the waterways.

Mary turned from the window, and watched as Katherine began to nod off. These last few days had afforded little opportunity for sleep, so the exhaustion was perfectly understandable. But, Mary wanted company, and wasn't about to let the only other human being in the room doze off.

"This isn't exactly the best start to married life," Mary remarked drily. "So, I cannot thank you enough for your help, Lady Katherine."

Katherine smiled, and gave herself a shake to wake up.

"It is an honour, my lady," she replied. "But, I think I heard something outside. Did you?"

"No, you were almost asleep, perhaps you imagined it?" Mary replied. All the same, she felt her senses heighten in alarm.

Katherine was as unconvinced by that explanation as Mary was, so she got to her feet and tip toed to the door. Mary followed her, and they both pressed their ears to the door, straining to listen for movement in the outer gallery.

"We should go out and take a look around, anyway," Mary said, keeping her voice down to a whisper.

Just as Katherine gave a nod in agreement, the sound of footsteps hurrying down the outer gallery could be heard clearly. Without thinking about it, Mary and Katherine wrenched the doors open together, and burst out into the gallery. Whoever it was was now out of sight; nevertheless the two of them followed the direction in which they sensed the intruder fleeing.

"This way," Mary called out as they ran, skirts hitched over their ankles, and turned left down a corridor just beyond the gallery. "Now down here!"

They both came skidding to a halt, and looked both ways, up and down the corridor. The place was empty, and nothing could be heard beyond the dripping of the damp down the cold stone walls, and their own panting breath. The light was poor, too. Only the flames from the torches on the walls lit their path.

"Let's go back," said Katherine as she whirled around and retraced her steps. "They cannot have gone far!"

Mary ran after, and soon caught up as they emerged into the outer gallery, and ran down the right hand passageways. As they rounded another corner, Mary just caught sight of the hem of a cloak swishing out of sight around another corner. Katherine saw it as well, and no words were needed; they were both thinking the same thing as they plunged forwards.

Both Mary and Katherine lunged after the other person, who had tried to flee. But they landed almost on top of her, and brought her crashing to the flagstone floor by gripping the person's ankles. The other woman put up a struggle, but it was two on one. While Katherine pinned her to the floor, Mary tore the full length cloak off the intruder.

"Frances!" Mary gasped. "Katherine, fetch the guards, now! I can secure her!"

A surge of triumph coursed through her veins. Katherine let out a shriek of delight as she leapt back to her feet. Re-energised by their sudden and swift victory, she ran faster than she could ever imagined possible to where the nearest guards were stationed outside Queen Anne's apartments.

* * *

><p>Edmund gave chase through the streets of London. He was vaguely aware that he was running back towards the Castle of Windsor, and being led over to Louis' side of the City. But, he barely cared. He turned this and way and that, realising that he had lost sight of the enemy, and the rest of his men. He stopped to catch his breath, and get his bearings; but only because the alleyway he'd run down led to a dead end. The way forward was blocked by a stone wall that was several feet taller than he was, and he was hemmed in by large wattle and daub storage sheds on either said of him. The only direction open to him now was the way he'd come.<p>

He cursed heavily under his breath, and started walking, with feet of clay, back towards the entrance of the alley. His legs ached from running so hard across the city, and now he had stopped the cold made him ache all the more; burning his lungs as he tried to catch his breath. As he emerged from the alleyway, the sounds of another pair of feet slapping against the badly paved streets could be heard getting rapidly closer. He whirled around, and found himself facing, to his relief, a messenger he vaguely recognised. He was wearing a Tudor livery, but it was torn and bloodied. The man was sweating; his face crimson with the heat of his exertions.

"Sir," the man panted. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"What? Why? … What's happening?" asked Edmund, his mind reeling. Both were in a terrible state, but the messenger was worse. Much worse. "You're hurt, are others dead?"

"There is no time, Sir," the messenger gasped. "There are running battles over the west side of the river. We're in trouble, we're barely holding ground and we need your help."

Edmund cursed his earlier haste in splitting from the rest of his men just to pursue a few of Grey's lackeys. But all the same, he let the man grab his wrist and start leading back the way he had come. As they ran, a nearby church chimed out the hour; it was noon. There were more people in the streets, and Edmund could see that the citizen's army had finally put in an appearance. Some were engaged in struggles with men in Grey's livery, but in the confusion, the driving rain, and the riot of activity all around him, it was impossible to tell who was getting the upper hand.

The other man had let go of Edmund's wrist as they crossed the teeming market place, and he'd started to lag behind. More than once, Edmund lost his footing on a loose cobblestone, and come crashing to the ground, and almost impaled himself on his own sword at one point. But, he kept the other man in sight, and managed to follow him, dodging the occasional fight and ducking the missiles that were being thrown from the windows of the surrounding houses.

He expected the other man to cross Tower Bridge; over to the west side of the city where he said the running battles were happening. But he continued past the bridge, and led him down a network of narrow streets. Edmund became suspicious, and crashing to a halt at a pillar that propped up an archway that led to another dead end street.

"Wait!" he bellowed through lungs that ached so much he thought they would burst. "Where are you going?"

The man ducked into the rear entry of a terrace house, and out of sight. Edmund unsheathed the sword at his side, glanced over his shoulder to where there was still a lot of fighting going on. Nobody paid him any attention, but he could easily rally help if he needed it. But, as he hunkered down behind a large refuse bin, he had already decided to tackle this fight alone.

The messenger's uniform was torn and bloody, but he himself was not hurt. The penny dropped with a resounding echo in his mind. The messenger was one of Grey's men in a uniform stolen from a fallen royal soldier, and Edmund had been led, once again, into a trap. But this time; he was ready. His assailant was just as trapped as he was, making them almost equal. All Edmund had to do was wait to see who that messenger was reporting to.

Not five minutes later, and the exhausted messenger suddenly burst back through the door he had slipped into. Henry Grey was not far behind him.

"Where is he?" Grey asked, sounding irritated. "I swear if this is another mistaken identity, I will feed you to the carrion on Tower Hill myself!"

"On my honour, my lord, it is him," the messenger explained. "He and his men were hidden behind a harbour wall by the market. We saw them as clear as they saw us."

"Well, where is he, then?"

Grey was sounding furious now. Edmund curled up, making himself as small as possible behind the refuse bins, praying silently that Grey would come to investigate.

"He followed me here, I swear he did!" the messenger was sounding panicky now. "Wait here, I'll check the street outside."

Edmund moved a stinking sack of rubbish that smelled like it had come from a fish mongers, so that he was concealed from view as his messenger friend ran past him, and out into the street. As soon as he was gone, Edmund dropped the toxic sack, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He gripped his sword tight, his knuckles whitening, and waited patiently for the moment to strike. He could hear Henry Grey cursing under his breath as he walked closer to the spot where Edmund was hidden from view.

The seconds dragged until Edmund could just see Grey's bulk from between the two bins he hid behind. Then, with his palpitating heart in his throat, he lunged forwards, tipping the bins over and sending rubbish flying in every direction, he launched himself on top of Grey.

"What the fuck!" shouted Grey as he crashed to the ground.

"Move, and I'll slit you from belly to throat!" Edmund hissed as he rolled the Marquis over and knelt into the small of his back, pinning him in place.

"Oh shut up!" Grey laughed.

The rain made it hard for Edmund to keep his grip, and Grey threw him off as easily as a stray insect. He hit the filthy ground with a dull slap, and pain shot through the small of his back. But Edmund ignored it, and channelled all his energy into getting back on his feet. It was something instilled in him from childhood. No matter how hard they kick you, always get back on your feet.

Edmund still gripped his sword in his hands. Grey looked at it, and laughed.

"Have it your way, then," he said, and drew his own blade. "You're only a boy, so what have I to fear?"

Edmund knew well that he should have called for help. The rain was blurring his vision, his body ached all over from a thousand bumps, scrapes, and bruises. He was exhausted from lack of sleep, and a dash across the city and back. But he yearned to take Henry Grey down himself. Without a second though, he made the first attack and lunged with his blade. There was a clash of steel on steel as Grey parried the blow easily. But Edmund hadn't even got started.

* * *

><p>Queen Anne cursed the rain that had slowed their progress over the last few miles, for it was well past noon when they finally reached the gates of London. She had hoped to create a grand processional return through the streets, so King Henry could soak up the adoration of his people for his homecoming. But thanks to the rain, their standards were soaked and dirtied by flying mud and rain, their men were weary, and itching for their warm hearths and warmer beds.<p>

As she looked around at them all, their masses stretching for almost a mile, she decided that what they lacked in finesse, they more than compensated in numbers. For the people of the out lying villages, who rarely get the chance to see their King in the flesh, had joined them.

"Welcome home, my love," she said to Henry, who was riding at her side.

He returned with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his bright blue eyes. "Look," he said, pointing to a figure running towards them. "A welcome from the guards."

Anne watched as the figure got larger, the nearer he got. Already she feared it was no welcome he had come to offer.

"Your Majesties," he cried out.

Anne and Henry stiffened at the tone of his voice. He sounded panicked, and it set their inner alarm bells ringing. Just off in the distance, Henry could spot a thin coil of smoke curling into the grey skies. Somewhere was on fire, and he was certain it was not supposed to be. There was trouble in the City.

"What is wrong?" Henry called out as the man drew level with them. His eyes were wide with fear, and he was dripping wet. "Is there trouble?"

"The city is being attacked by rebels from Dorset," he panted. "We're struggling to keep control. Send your men in now, please!"

Henry did not wait to be asked twice. He turned to the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, and passed the command on. A cry went up, and the horses surged forwards within minutes. The guard had to leap to one side before he got trampled to death. Henry dug his spurs into his horses flanks, but as he prepared to ride off, he called to Anne over his shoulder:

"Anne, stay here with your uncle and wait for me!"

"Not on your life!" she retorted hotly, and kicked her own horse into a gallop. "I'm coming with you!"

There was no time to argue. The armies of Suffolk, Norfolk, and Tudor all merged to form a great advancing machine that swept like a tidal wave across the city. After the thundering horses came the fresh foot soldiers, all of whom had long bows out, ready to shoot down any rebels who crossed their paths. Within moments, it seemed, of the army entering the gates, they branched off down every winding street, and every alleyway to reimpose the authority of the King.

A small group of Norfolk's retainers formed a protective circle around Anne as she rode through the city. Down every street she looked out for anyone she knew, for Lady Mary, or Edmund and Louis. She didn't even know if they were still alive. But even as she passed, she could see that men in Grey liveries were being rounded up, or lying dead and injured in the streets.

She averted her gaze and rode straight to the Palace of Windsor. She leapt down from her horse before he had even come to a proper halt, and headed straight in doors. She strode through the galleries, calling out the household staff. It was Katherine Howard who appeared.

"Your Majesty," she rushed up to the Queen, and fell to the floor in what was supposed to be a curtsey. "Lady Mary is back, we have taken Frances Brandon prisoner."

"What! Where is she?" Anne demanded, hauling Katherine back to her feet.

"She is locked in a wine cellar until we can get the guards back," answered Katherine.

"Then take me to Lady Mary, I need to see my step daughter."

* * *

><p>The fight between Edmund and Henry Grey was knocking them both out. They parried each other's blows; blocked each other's lunges with the sword. Going around in a hopeless circle; each hoping to wear the other out. Edmund, at one point, was about to surrender. The whole fight seemed futile. All hell had broken loose outside, in the open streets where the fighting seemed to intensify a hundred fold. But then he heard the shouts of the people, and felt the adrenaline course through his blood.<p>

"The King! The King! The King is back!" they all shouted out in chorus.

Edmund let his sword fall limp at his side.

"You're finished, my lord," he panted, struggling to get his breath back after another exhausting fight.

But Henry Grey, Marquis of Dorset, was not about to give up so easily. Anger and desperation flared dangerously in his eyes, as he lifted his sword again. He lunged forwards, swung it so close to Edmund that he felt the slipstream of air. The second blow, and Edmund was ready for it, he blocked the blow when it was mid-arch, just like his brother's had spent years trying to teach him, and knocked Grey's swords clean out of his hands. It fell, dented and useless, with a clangour on the opposite side of the alleyway.

"Surrender to the men now; or I kill you myself," said Edmund as he pointed the tip of his sword at Grey's throat.

Grey stepped backwards, seemingly mute with anger, but Edmund followed with the tip of the sword trained on his adversaries throat. Grey fell to his knees, his hands held above his head in surrender. Edmund nodded his approval, a wan smile of relief on his face.

"It's over," Edmund told him, his voice weak and hoarse. "It's over, now."


	23. Mopping Up The Dregs

**Author's Note:** Thank you, as ever, to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Your comments are always greatly appreciated. The usual disclaimers apply; I own none of this. Thank you again for reading, and I hope my readers continue to enjoy this story. Sorry if this is a bit of a filler chapter to tie up loose ends before moving into the final stages. Alas, it had to be done.

Reviews most welcome, thank you again!

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Three: Mopping The Dregs.<strong>

A cart left the gates of Windsor Castle, covered completely to hide the identity of the woman shackled inside of it. Just as it rolled haphazardly over the cobblestones, another cart – this one open for all the world to see - pulled out into the Cheapside. Henry Grey was paraded through the streets like a circus side-show freak. Edmund, bloodied and battered from the long day of running streets fights, propped himself against the stone pillar of the alleyway, and watched the carts trundle off to the Tower. The dregs of the rebellion had finally been mopped up.

He did not know what to feel; if he should feel anything at all. He was oblivious to the people hurrying to and fro, to the people of London shouting and calling out to loved ones, and slowly, showing their iron clad resilience in getting straight back into the swing of their normal lives. Taverns and ale houses threw open their doors, and even some market traders decided to try and catch some last minute trade before sundown. He was so tired he could barely see straight; only his nagging pain that consumed his whole body kept him awake, weighted to this side of consciousness.

Nor did Edmund hear the horse coming to halt behind him, or the thump as the heavy rider landing heavily on his feet. The only thing that brought him out of his trance was that hearty slap on his back that sent a fresh waves of pain coursing through his aching muscles. The blow, although meant as a hearty congratulatory gesture, sent him pitching forwards. He threw out a hand and slapped it against the wet stone pillar to stop himself from falling. Normally, he would have let the incident pass, or force himself to take it in good form. But his exhaustion had eaten all of his patience, and more beside.

"Watch it, mister!" he warned the man who was now hovering over him. "Only my nearest and dearest are allowed to do that." Edmund surprised himself, for being so rude to the man, and for how much he suddenly sounded like a Londoner.

He looked up at the man, now towering over him, his expression was scandalised, and Edmund realised he may have made a big mistake. This was no wispy marquis, this man could crush him like an insect, if he so desired. He was as wide as he was big. His clothes, once impeccable, however, looked dirty and shabby, as though he'd been riding for days. His hair was auburn, but fading to grey, and he looked at Edmund through small but piercing blue eyes. The man's presence exuded authority and a bearing that was almost beyond human. But Edmund had no patience for any of that. He turned his face to the wall, and let the rain come washing down over him, washing away the dried blood and mud that stuck to his skin.

"Oh dear!" the other exclaimed in a voice that was surprisingly high for such a big man. "I only came to offer my thanks."

"Gratefully received, Sir," Edmund replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Now please leave me alone. I want to wallow all by myself."

"Suit yourself then," the other man grumbled. "Rude fellow!"

Edmund rolled his eyes. He could feel the man's insulted pride radiating from behind him, and he indeed sounded fabulously offended. A few weeks ago, and Edmund too would have been gravely insulted. It added to strange, empty, misery that now engulfed him. A few hours ago, he had thought that he would be dead for sure by this time. A few hours before that, and he had been deliriously happy. Mary had kissed him. She had thrown her arms around him, and kissed him like he had never been kissed before.

As he recalled that one blissful moment, and relived it second by second, he felt a warm, giddy, joy fill his heart and chase his demons away. He looked over his shoulder, glad to see that the man was gone, and looked up at Windsor Castle. With something as close to a spring in his step as he could get, he set off for his new home.

* * *

><p>Lady Mary, Lady Katherine, and Queen Anne all waited in the Presence Chamber in a little knot. The cards were out, but they played only for fun to while away the wait. The air was filled with their excited chatter as they all relived their experiences on the road. Mary recounted every detail of her captivity, her flight to freedom, her rescue at hand of Edmund, Louis and Katherine. Queen Anne did the same, and recalled Northumberland's plot to invade the Country.<p>

Their chatter was punctuated by gasps, and stifled yelps as the full horrors of the last few months were laid bare. A brief interruption came from a guard who told them that Stephen Gardiner had been arrested, along with Henry Grey, and others suspected of being involved in plots against the Royal Family. Richard Rich was another to be scooped off the streets. They all fell silent as the messenger spoke of the day's events.

"Order is restored now?" the Queen asked.

"Aye, madam. His Majesty is now returned, and shall be in shortly."

Mary turned to Anne. "I shall go and greet him, now," she said, and Anne returned with a nod and a smile.

Henry was already in the entrance of the Great Hall when Mary found him. She stopped in the gallery, just out of sight, straightened her gown, and tucked some loose strands of hair into her hood before she approached him. For a moment, however, she paused at the corner, and listened to the familiar sound of his voice chiming out the orders, with a bonhomie that was unique to him, and always in his tone.

Emotions soon overwhelmed her. But, she took a moment to compose herself, and rounded the corner. He was there, surrounded by fussing grooms. His clothes were shabby after days on the road, but his presence was as forceful and vibrant as ever it was. He had not noticed her, so she cleared her throat.

"Your Majesty," she said, sinking into a low, deep curtsey.

Henry stopped what he was doing, and immediately sent the Grooms scattering. He looked at her as thought it was the first time he had ever seen her.

"Daughter," he said, as though he didn't quite trust what his eyes were seeing.

Mary rose to her feet, tears welling in her eyes, and rushed into his open, outstretched arms. The flood waters of her emotions broke as he clung her tight to his chest, not letting go. She sobbed into his broad shoulders at will; like a small child. If she had looked up, she would have seen that he too had tears brimming in his eyes as he clasped his pearl tightly to his chest, and never wanted to let her go again.

* * *

><p>The afternoon gave way to the evening. Soon dusk settled over the newly ordered city, and the inhabitants had had time to recover from the shock of events. The mercifully few who had died were taken away for burial, the ring leaders rounded up and taken to the Tower, and those retainers who'd had no choice but to fight for the enemy had their pardons read out. A trial was already being set for Henry Grey, Frances Brandon, John Dudley, and Stephen Gardiner. Henry signed the writs himself.<p>

"She was your daughter, Charles," said Henry, still looking down at the parchment he had just scrawled his monogram H on.

Charles Brandon stepped forwards into a small pool flickering light. His shoulders were hunched; his back stooped. He looked like he had been literally broken in half. Ever since learning of his daughter's betrayal, his mind had stopped working. He could not longer take anything in.

"Your Majesty," he replied, his voice an empty monotone. "I beg you to believe me when I say I had no part in, or knowledge of any of this. Nor did any of my other children, and grandchildren."

Henry's expression relaxed and he waved a dismissive hand.

"I know, Charles," he reassuringly said. "She was my niece. She was our family. But all the same, I am taking the wardship of your grandchild, Lady Jane. She has been used a pawn in one plot, and I will not see it happen again."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Charles, return to Westhorpe, and rest," Henry instructed him. "I need you by my side, Charles. But now you must rest, and only come back to me when you are well again, old friend."

It was a conciliatory command. Henry had made it clear to Charles that he was not banished, nor blamed for the uprising. The King, in fact, watched Charles bow a stiff bow, and back out of the chamber with a tear welling in his eye. The duke was a broken man. He had aged ten years and more the moment he learned of Frances' betrayal.

As soon as Charles had gone, Henry climbed to his feet. The last few weeks had taken their toll on him. His whole body ached. A few Grooms now had to support him on both sides as they escorted him back to the Privy Chamber. But, he paused outside the door, and asked them to let go. He wasn't about to go hobbling back into the bosom of his family like an elderly invalid.

* * *

><p>Anne, Mary, Prince William and Elizabeth were already sat at the dinner table when Henry returned to them. The food was prepared, and the wine glasses set out. They were all just waiting for him. He beamed around at them all as he took his seat. He didn't notice the sheet of parchment at Lady Mary's elbow, however, until she slid it across the table in his direction.<p>

"What is this?" he asked, clicking his fingers to a nearby Groom. The Groom darted into one of the ante-chambers, and returned moments later, Henry's reading glasses in hand. He blinked through the momentary blur as his failing eyesight readjusted to the script on the page, and muttered the words under his breath.

"Oh, I see," he said, looking up.

Both Mary and Anne looked up at him expectantly, their food going ignored. Henry tried to ignore them, but their gaze was boring into him. He let his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

"You cannot expect me to just sign it," he cried, throwing his hands up. "I need to see this man. I need to make sure he is suitable … I am not signing the hand of my eldest daughter to the first taker!"

"Father, please. I love him, and I think that he loves me," pleaded Mary. Her heart raced, and her eyes began to well with tears at the thought of her father backing out of the deal now.

Anne cleared her throat, and stepped in.

"I know the man well, my lord-"

"Oh don't you 'my lord' me, Anne," Henry hotly retorted. "You only do that when you want something."

"He is very nice, father," chimed in Elizabeth, giving her father a plaintive look. "I would say that such a gentleman would only come along once in a woman's life."

"Oh you would, would you?" asked Henry. "Well, I suppose I had better meet this paragon."

* * *

><p>Mary reached out and took Edmund's hand in her own. It had been two days since they had reclaimed London together. They had both slept, bathed, and had some chance to recover from their ordeal. But, for Edmund, another lay ahead. Just beyond the grandly carved double doors in front of him, King Henry and Queen Anne were waiting to receive him formally, for the first time.<p>

While he waited, he checked his reflection in a nearby window, using the pale reflection there to ensure his shirt was tucked in, his jacket not stained nor creased. He smoothed down his hair as best as he good. But all the same, he was trembling in his immaculately polished boots.

"Just remember," said Mary is a low whisper. "You have diplomatic immunity."

"What? Will I be needing it?" he asked, eyes wide with panic. Mary stifled a laugh. "That's not funny," he chided. "No really, that's not funny!"

"Just relax, and do not touch me. If you touch me, you'll be needing a lot more than diplomatic immunity to save you," she advised, just as the double doors swung open and an impeccably dressed Chamberlain emerged.

"First you tell me to relax, and then add that," he whined.

He dropped Mary's hand as the Chamberlain ushered them both into Presence Chamber. His heart beat hammered as he stepped forwards. Mary, at his side, sank into a low curtsey. Edmund followed with a graceful bow. To his horror, he could see that the chamber was lined with a whole bevy of grooms, servants, ushers, and footmen. He was expecting the audience to be a private affair. A surprisingly high voice beckoned them forwards. A surprisingly high voice that Edmund recognised.

"We meet again, my lord of wherever it is you're from," the King said, regarding Edmund through narrowed slits of eyes.

Edmund straightened up, and found himself looking into the face of the man he had cold shouldered after he had beaten Henry Grey, and flushed scarlet with embarrassment. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though expecting that this was all a bad dream, and Henry would have changed to someone else when he opened them again.

"Your Majesty, I … I …" his explanations trailed off as he struggled for an excuse. He gave up, and added something that, even to his own ears, sounded rather impertinent. "I am from Luxembourg, as it happens."

Henry laughed uproariously. Anne and Lady Mary exchanged a worried glance.

"Luxembourg, is it?" said Henry as he recovered his composure. "My great grandmother came from there, did you know that?"

"Jacquetta of Luxembourg," replied Edmund. "The mother of Queen Elizabeth Woodville, and your majesty's late mother's grandmother, I believe."

"She would be your great aunt, or something along those lines?" Henry added, looking impressed.

It was enough. The ice was broken, and Henry rose from his place on the dais. He closed the gap between he and Edmund, and put a fatherly arm around his shoulder. Edmund, however, paled, looking more nervous than ever as Henry steered him away towards the doors that led out on to some private gardens. He signalled for everyone else where they were. This was a man to man talk.

As they entered the gardens, Edmund cast a desperate look over his shoulder towards Mary, who responded with a grin and an encouraging nod. Once they were alone in the gardens, Henry persisted in maintaining his over tight grip on Edmund.

"You like my daughter, then?" he asked, casting a longing look back in the direction of where Mary still waited in the Presence chamber. Edmund gave a rather stiff nod.

"She's been betrothed a few times," Henry recalled. "To the French, the Spanish, and the French again. All fell through, for a lot of reasons. Mostly because Mary is my pearl. My jewel. My girl."

Edmund was beginning to feel nauseous. "On my honour, I'll look after her, and protect her with my life, like I have done these last weeks, Your Majesty."

"Honour is something that most boys your age lack," explained Henry. "But I have seen you in action. You have proved yourself beyond reproach. I cannot deny that. But it hurts to let that girl go. My only consolation is that I have another."

The two of them walked at a sedate pace around the fish pond in the centre of the lawn. For a moment, they were both immersed in their private thoughts. Finally, however, Edmund spoke.

"I would do it all again, for Lady Mary," he said. "Whatever it takes, I would do it."

Henry let go of him, and turned away for a minute as he reached his final decision. But when he turned back to Edmund, he did so with a pained smile on his face.

"Although it grieves me, My Lord of Luxembourg, I gladly consent to this union."

Edmund was careful to keep his expression neutral, but inside he was turning cartwheels. He bowed low to the King, and kissed the back of Henry's hand.

"And Edmund, we'll never mention your little faux pas in the markets the other day, ever again," said Henry with a sly wink. The two of them dissolved into laughter.


	24. All England's Enemies

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. You comments and input are gratefully received. The usual disclaimers apply; I own none of this. Please read and review, thank you!

**This chapter contains graphic execution scenes that readers may not appreciate. Proceed with caution, thank you.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four: All England's Enemies. <strong>

The royal barge swayed on the gently undulating waters of the river as it shored up outside the Tower; before Traitor's Gate. Queen Anne sat on board while her guards secured the moorings, and lowered her hood to take in the full height of the grim fortress. Its limestone walls stood stark against the gloomy skies, and cast its long shadow over the whole of the surrounding district. It always sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine; even when she went there in the run up to her coronation. It was always cold, always damp, and always stank of animal waste and blood. Small wonder no one had used it as the Palace it was designed to be in almost a century.

William Kingston appeared through a grey, iron door set into the wall, and swept a low bow to Anne before he offered her his hand. With a small smile of acknowledgement, she accepted his assistance as she carefully stepped ashore. The second she stepped into the Tower's precincts, that all too familiar chill descended and made the hairs at the back of her neck stick out, and her flesh crawled in goosebumps. It was hard for her to tell what was worse about the Tower; the screams, or the silence, because the latter seemed as loud and as oppressive as the former.

"You know that I am here on the King's business," said Anne as Kingston escorted her through the long, winding, passageways to the Wakefield Tower.

"I trust that his majesty is well?" Kingston asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "Although, I can well understand …"

His words trailed off; unwilling to finish the sentence. But, Anne stepped in, and voiced only what everyone else was thinking.

"The betrayal of his niece has hit the King hard," she said. "But, it is not that. Not that alone, at any rate. He received some more bad news this morning."

Kingston gave an understanding nod as they came to halt outside a cell. The keys scraped jarringly in the lock, and Anne inwardly winced against the whine of the old rusty hinges as the door swung open. Inside the small cell was an old table, a pallet bed, and old straw (not even proper rushes) lined the flagstones.

Frances Brandon stood with her back to the room; gaze directed out of the window, and did not turn around to see who had entered. Nor did she speak. Anne stepped to one side, so she was not in sight, and let Kingston do the talking.

"Lady Frances," he spoke in a voice heavy and sombre. "A visitor to see you. Her Majesty, the Queen of England, Ireland, and France, Anne Boleyn, Marquis of Pembroke."

Anne turned to Kingston with a smile curling the corner of her lip. "Send for some guards, Master Kingston. The Lady and I shall be holding this meeting in my own private apartments."

A flicker of surprise crossed Kingston's features. But, as he escorted the two women to the Queen's Chambers he motioned for the first two guards they passed to join them. Once the short journey across the tower was complete, they entered the Queen's chambers, where the muffled sounds a crowd could be heard. Kingston smiled comprehension dawned on him. With a small, deferential, bow to the Queen, he left them alone. Outside the chamber, there was a stamp of boots on stone as the guards took up their position.

Frances remained silent. Anne stood in front of her, looking her directly in the eye as though it were a blinking contest between the two of them. Each woman's face a mask of ill concealed contempt. Finally, Anne whirled around and strode over to the windows. Tow storeys below them, a crowd had gathered around a high wooden scaffold. The block was at the front, with a clean box of sand and straw placed in front of it. The axe was casually propped against the railings, beside the spot where the headsman was fixing his mask.

"Aren't you going to come and watch?" asked Anne. Her tone was almost friendly.

"I am at your majesty's command," replied Frances blankly. "I should have expected this, it is your style after all."

Anne ignored that slight. Frances crossed the room and together the two of them watched the scene below them unfold. Every so often, Anne would glance over to Frances, to read her reactions. But even as Henry Grey was walked the short walk from the door to the scaffold, there was no more than a stoically suppressed shiver from Frances. Almost imperceptible, but the look in those cold grey eyes was brightened by unshed tears.

"The King received some bad news today," said Anne, watching distractedly as she half concentrated on watching Grey's final performance and half concentrated on the conversation she was having with Frances. "One of his oldest friends died recently."

Frances gasped, and reached out a hand to stop herself from swaying. Anne turned away in disgust, and watched as Henry Grey knelt at the block. The headsman approached, and there was an exchange of words that they could not hear. Forgiveness sought by the executioner, and duly afforded by the condemned. It was a ritual as old as the Tower itself; they all knew it off by heart.

"Your father," said Anne. The executioner had the axe in his hands, now. He was testing it to get the feel of the weight; the balance just perfect. "His Grace, the duke of Suffolk, passed away the day before last."

The silence was suffocating as the headsman lined up the stroke of the axe. Anne glanced over to Frances who was stood at her right. Her gaze was fixed on her husband, her face pale and drawn, and her eyes unfocused. How much she was really seeing, Anne could not tell. Anne looked back at the executioner just as the axe arced gracefully through the air, severing the head of Henry Grey in one smooth movement. Frances gasped and stumbled backwards, almost tripping on the hems of her gown as she did so. But Anne continued to watch as the blood spilled and pooled across the scaffold. She felt empty and drained as the man's head was held up for the whole crowd to see.

Away from the window, Frances recomposed herself in a nearby seat. She looked as if she was going to vomit. But Anne was unconcerned. The show over for the time being, she stepped back and sat opposite Frances. Frances sat with her head dropped into her brow, where she stifled the silent tears.

"I suppose you want to know what happened to your father," said Anne. "Well, I cannot say that I know. But what I do know is that I when I saw him not one month ago, he was fine. However, that was before he learned of your true nature. I will leave you to work out the rest for yourself."

Frances lifted her head, and looked the Queen directly in the eye.

"You're not just a whore," she defiantly retorted. "You're a heartless whore to boot. Well, it's all part of the business you're in, I suppose."

Anne gave a small, derisive laugh. "Not true, I have pleaded with the King on your behalf, and he has agreed to spare your life," Anne replied, sitting back in her chair to watch the other woman's reaction. She, like her husband, had been scheduled to die that day.

"And why would you do that?" Frances asked, all but calling the Queen a liar.

"Because death is too easy for some people," Anne replied acidly. "And you're one of them."

* * *

><p>John Dudley, former duke of Northumberland, looked straight ahead as the portcullis in front was slowly raised. He was flanked on all sides by armed yeomen, and currently being led out to his place of execution. His mind was blank, and his stomach in nots as he the crowds came into view for the first time.<p>

The reaction was standard. The air was suddenly filled with shouts and jeers that made his ears ring and his heart beat race. A cold sweat of fear, fear which he refused to show in his demeanour, beaded across his brow as he walked the gauntlet of hatred to wooden platform where he would meet his death with all the dignity he could muster. But as he mounted the steps, felt them sag beneath his feet, he could feel as own resolve sagging in tandem. The sight of the blood made his stomach lurch. It had spread in a vast pool, dripping down between the rivets in the wood. It ran in rivulets down the sides of the block.

But the crowds settled, and the soothing monotone of his almoner, reading the Psalms of the Penitent Sinners, could be clearly heard. He shifted his gaze away from the blood, and out over the newly pacified crowds, who now looked back at him expectantly. A sea of wide eyed faces, all come along for the show. Behind him, soft footsteps of the Privy Councillors could be heard as they, also, climbed onto the scaffold after him; acting as witnesses to his end. He struggled to swallow through his bone dry throat, and moved to the edge of the platform. With his hands folded behind his back, he hung his head as he gathered himself enough to deliver his final words to the world.

"Good Christian people," said Dudley, addressing the assembled masses with a forced calm, as he followed the standard speech template. "I have come amongst you all to die, and not to purge my soul for all to hear. It would do you more harm to hear those confessions, than it could ever do me good to repeat it."

A swell of jeers rolled up from the crowds; forcing him to stop and wait for them to settle again. But as he waited, his eyes roved over the faces one more time. He saw her, then. Her face veiled in fine muslin black lace; he could just make out his wife, Jane. She stood near the front with their son, Ambrose, helping her to stand upright. Ambrose looked back at him with barely a trace of recognition on his face. With the breath knocked out his lungs already, Dudley forced himself to concentrate on his speech. For their sake, he knew he must make good confession.

"For all that I have done, and all that I had planned to do, I deserve death a hundred times. Thus, I submit myself gladly to the will of the King, and take my leave of you all. But, if be granted one last favour, I beseech you all to pray for me."

With that, he inclined his head in deference to the people, before stepping back to place himself, kneeling, before the block. As he looked down at it, still covered in it's last victims blood, the crowd began to grow restive again. He drowned out their jeers as he placed his hands at the corners of the wood, and bent himself down to place his chin in the blood soaked groove, arching the back of his neck, ready to receive the stroke of the axe.

It seemed to draw out for an eternity. That space between correctly placing himself, and the cold steel blade being aligned at the base of his neck, went on far what felt like an hour. When it did come, it made him flinch and draw in a sharp breath as he braced himself for death. He fixated on the pitch of the crowd's cries, using it as a guide to help guess what the executioner was doing. An image of the man with the axe above his head just formed in his mind, when he heard the whoosh of the swing, followed by a sickening crunch as the blade sank deep into his left shoulder.

He let out a sharp gasp of pain; his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of the block and concentrated on holding his position. His blood flowed through his shirt, and ran into Grey's that was already covering him anyway, so nobody noticed. The executioner swore heavily as he put his boot up on the edge of the block to wrench the axe free.

Dudley's stomach churned as the blade, now dripping with blood, was aligned once more. He choked on a whimper as the headsman took two more practise swings, before the second finally crashed home. The blade cut through sinew and bone like a hot knife through butter as the crowds roared appreciatively. The headsman dropped the axe, and lifted the dripping head.

"Thus die all England's enemies!"

* * *

><p>Lady Mary held the white taffeta against her body, and turned to look in the mirror. She ran her free hand down the front, relishing the touch of the soft white fabric, like liquid to the touch. Behind her, Lady Susan Clarencieux, Lady Katherine of Bohemia, and Queen Anne all arched their necks and leaned to one side so that they could see her properly.<p>

"Give us a twirl!" Anne called out as her excitement got the better of her.

Mary turned with a shy smile on her blushing face. She laughed a nervous laugh as they took her in. After an expectant pause, there was a collective sigh of appreciation from the three other women. After a few seconds, Lady Katherine was on her feet. She rummaged through some boxes and chests, picking out lengths of fine fabrics seemingly at random. Once she had the ones she was looking for, she started drape them around Mary.

A silk belt around the waist, a velvet mantle, and sleeves of fine silver white silk and taffeta. She muttered under her breath as she worked, and topped it off with a jewelled muslin veil that was draped over Mary's chestnut coloured hair. The small jewels glittered and winked in the candle light.

"There," said Katherine, as she stood back to admire the effect. "What say you, your grace?"

Mary, however, was not so confident. She felt like she had just been mummified in a mountain of fabrics at will. Nevertheless, prompted by the nods and sighs of approval from Anne and Susan, Mary turned back to the looking glass. She could see the shape that Katherine had gone for, and the colour scheme. White, cream and cloth of silver. It brought out the colour in her eyes, and off set her dark hair. It made her skin look alabaster white, without making her look pale and washed out. She smiled, and turned to look at Katherine through a mist of tears.

"Its perfect!"

The wedding was days away, and the dress still not made. But, as Mary looked back into the mirror, she knew that that was another problem solved. Just as she was about to unwind herself from the endless miles of fabrics, there was a soft knock at the chamber door. Mary Lascelles peered into the room, and ducked a curtsey.

"Your Grace, Edmund of Luxembourg to see you."

There was an explosion of frenzied activity in the room as the women all sprang to their feet to get all the fabrics for the wedding dress hidden away. Queen Anne reached for a sombre blue gown, and slid it on over Mary's head herself. Katherine fussed over Mary's hair, so that it hung straight, and not messed up from having endless gowns pulled up and over it. Pinching her cheeks to give them a little colour, she finally nodded to Lady Mary to admit her fiancé.

Edmund swept an elegant bow to Mary and the ladies as he stepped into the room. As he rose again, he produced a small bouquet of lilies from behind his back, and held them out to Mary.

"For you," he coyly said.

Mary beamed brightly as she took the flowers, and breathed in their rich, clean scent.

"They're beautiful," she replied as she stretched up for a kiss.

With the flowers handed over to Lady Mary Lascelles, Mary and Edmund walked over to a window embrasure where they could speak privately, but still be in view of Anne, who acted as Mary's chaperone.

"I wanted to see how you were?" explained Edmund as they settled into the window seat.

Mary knew he was not asking about the wedding.

"Relieved," she answered flatly. "It's all over now; all we have left is the future."

She was right about that. All they had left was the future, and what they chose to fill that with was up to them. Edmund looked up at her, into her deep blue eyes, and rummaged through the inside pocket of his jacket. From within it, he produced a fine gold chain with a ruby heart encased in a gold jacket, hanging from the end. He smiled that same shy smile he showed when they first met. She did not notice at that time, but it made her heart melt now.

"I want you to have this," he whispered with a sly glance towards the Queen, making sure Anne could not see. "A secret token of my love for your grace."

Mary took the delicate chain, and let it hang loosely from her fingers.

"I love it," she whispered back, watching as the stones caught the light. "I love you."

They leaned across the small space that divided them, and kissed each other softly.

Outside the window, as they kissed, the winter released it's grip on the land. The first green shoots of spring and sprung. The animals were birthing. Life was beginning to blossom once more, as nature reclaimed the land. Mary closed her eyes, touched his face, and let her heart run away with her head.


	25. Time To Let Go

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. All of your comments are very much appreciated, so thank you! The usual disclaimers apply; I own none of this. Please read and review, thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five: Time to Let Go.<strong>

Edmund's door rattled in its frame as the hammering came again. He woke up with a start, and wondered where the fire was as the hammering came yet again. Slowly, he dragged himself out of bed, and kneaded at the residue of the previous night's wine consumption. 'Never again," he thought to himself as he tried to focus on one spot to stop the spinning. It was useless. The dog, his old friend Beowulf, gave him a condescending look from his sleeping spot in the corner. Then, to make matters worse, the hammering on the door came again.

"I am on my way!" he yelled at the door, hoping the visitor would go away and leave him alone.

Then, he remembered the day. It was the wedding day. He suddenly hauled himself up, and started splashing cold water over his face. He had allowed Louis to get him drunk in celebration of the big event. He pulled a clean shirt on over his breeches, and hurried to answer the door.

"What took you so long?"

It was Otto, with Philip at his side. His two older brothers stared at him indignantly. Edmund looked back at them, blinking through the haze of his baby hangover. They had barely spoken a word since Philip returned to London; there arrival rather an unexpected, and not altogether, welcome one.

"What are you two doing here?" he demanded. He hoped if he stood there blocking the door, they would get the hint that he was not in the right frame of mind for visitors, and leave him alone.

"Is that any way to speak to your brothers?" asked Philip, with a pout to emphasise his hurt feelings.

Edmund heaved a sigh of resignation, and stood aside to admit them both. As Otto pushed his way in, Edmund could see that he was struggling with a large, ornately carved, chest. Edmund looked at it questioningly.

"You didn't think we'd let you get married without a fabulously expensive present, did you?" said Otto.

"I never knew you cared!" exclaimed Edmund. "What's in it?"

He dropped to his haunches beside the chest and was about to unlatch it, when Philip strode over and slapped his hands away, like a child with his grubby fingers in the sugar basin.

"Ouch!"

"Its for after your wedding," Philip admonished him. "You might like to have your wife at your side when you open it."

"That's what its like when you're married," added Otto, knowingly. "You tend to do things together."

Edmund groaned as the teasing continued. He got up, affecting not to hear them, and started laying out his best clothes for the wedding. They had been tailor made, at the expense of King Henry. No one had bothered to make anything especially for him back in Luxembourg. The chatter of his brothers stopped as he was about to remove a new chemise from it's paper. He glanced over his shoulder to see what they were up to, and found them looking at him in silence, their posture oddly formal.

"Anything wrong?" he asked, nerves flickering now.

Philip sat down on the bed, and he wore that expression that Edmund recognised only faintly. He was trying to think of the right things to say.

"Otto and I must leave straight after the service," he said. "Our duty to you and our father is done."

"I see," replied Edmund. He had known this moment was coming, and tried not to think of it. He had always relished the prospect of freedom from his brothers and father, but now that the moment had come, he didn't know what to do with it. He had never believed that it would actually happen. "I suppose that this is it, then."

"What Philip is trying to say is," Otto interjected, from where he stood by the window. "Is that we know things have been difficult. Perhaps, even, harsh for you."

"Yes," replied Edmund, setting his clothes back down and turning his full attention to his brothers. No matter what had happened between them, this was the last time he would ever see them.

"But, in the end," said Philip. "You did us proud."

Edmund wasn't sure if he had heard that right, but he decided not to query it; just enjoy it.

"When father hears of everything you did for Lady Mary," Otto said. "We know that he will be proud, too. Whether you believe that to be true or not, I think he will."

Edmund had never looked at the situation like that before. He had not sought approval, or advancement. He just wanted to make Mary see him, and show the world he could hold his own. The atmosphere was heavily awkward, as it always was with men unaccustomed to paying compliments, and showing their true feelings. Otto and Philip looked embarrassed, and Edmund looked confused, as though it were all supposed to be happening to someone else.

"Still, we were proved right, were we not?" asked Philip, suddenly much more buoyant. "A damn good hiding was all needed, and look what you went out and did?"

Otto snorted with laughter; Edmund too rolled his eyes and groaned. The awkwardness and tension dispelled. For the first time in their lives, they helped Edmund. They got his hair under control, made sure his shoes were shined and he was turned out to his best for the wedding. They even managed to procure a white carnation for his jacket.

It was nearing noon when they left for the chapel. The three of them arrived there together, and paused at the door. Louis and Katherine of Bohemia were already inside. Most of the guests would probably already be inside. Just he, and the bride, were yet to enter. But for a moment, the three of them stood in a small circle. Each looked at the other.

"Good luck, Edmund," said Philip.

"Yes, all the best, brother," added Otto.

Edmund smiled through the pre-wedding nerves that now clawed at his stomach. His mind was starting to race ahead to the ceremony, now. The past was being left behind, and this was just the final tie he had to cut before moving on.

"Thank you, both of you," he said.

He turned away to face the doors of the chapel, and the Usher beckoned him inside. He walked away from Philip and Otto, who did not follow him; nor did he look back.

* * *

><p>Queen Anne checked her reflection in the looking glass and smoothed down the front of her gown. It was a simple, but elegant, gown of silk and velvet. Blue and silver. On her head was a demure French hood. Nothing too showy; this day belonged to Mary alone, and Anne had no intention of upstaging her, Queen or no.<p>

She checked Princess Elizabeth, who wore a matching, smaller, gown to her mothers, and a similar French hood. Anne had given her a necklace to wear, one that had belonged to Elizabeth Howard, her mother. Anne smiled as she looked at Elizabeth, and took her by the hand. Outside, they met King Henry, with the two Princes, Arthur and William at his side.

"You look beautiful," said Henry as Anne and Elizabeth emerged into the outer galleries of the royal apartments. "Both of you."

"Are you ready?" she asked him.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied.

They exchanged a kiss on the cheek, and with their children surrounding them, the guards flanking them, they made their way to the chapel the moment the clocks struck noon. As they made their way through the Court, they stopped and exchanged greetings with many of the other guests as they all wended their way to the chapel. But, it was the sight of Katherine Howard, arm in arm with her husband that Anne stopped to speak with most eagerly.

"Lady Katherine," she called over to her cousin. "Still at Court, I see?"

Katherine looked rather abashed. She knew now that she was married she should be at her husband's home. But, the husband's home was part of the problem.

"You see, your majesty," she explained apologetically as they moved more slowly towards the chapel. "Louis' father still wants to cut off his head."

"That's a pity," said Henry, with a dry laugh.

Anne nudged him in the ribs, and ignored Elizabeth's suppressed laughter.

"Well, we can't have that after all he did for England," said Anne with a pointed, sidelong look at Henry. "Can we, Your Majesty."

"Oh very well," replied Henry with a sigh. "If his father executes him, I will be sure to declare war."

Katherine gasped in alarm, but Anne shot her a sympathetic look.

"He is teasing you, Lady Katherine," she assured her. "Perhaps, after the wedding, we will find a use for your husband here in England, even if it is just until this diplomatic spat has fizzled out."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Katherine curtseyed deeply to the Queen before returning to her husband's side.

Anne knew that she should be furious; Katherine and Louis had broken every rule in the royal book with their marriage. But, she believed in reward where it was due, and they had both gone above and beyond the call of duty, despite there being no obligation for them to do so.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked Henry, just as they reached the entrance to the chapel.

"Not really," he replied. "Besides, that cousin of yours is a pretty little thing. I can't go sending her into any more danger."

"I'll ignore that," she retorted. She turned to the chapel. "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," replied Henry, as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I will join you as soon as I can."

Henry could see that the groom was already in place. His two elder brothers were preparing to leave already. He was about to ask if they were staying for the service, when a trumpet blast signalled the arrival of the bride. He whirled around to face the opening of the gallery outside the chapel. The crowds parted like the red sea, and Mary emerged from the heart of the gathering. Tears sprung into his eyes as he looked at her.

He remembered the little Princess she had been. Small enough to fit in the palm of his hand as a baby. She was none of the child she had once been. She was a bride, now. She wore a full length gown of white and cream silk and velvet. Her skirts were edged with gold and silver threads. Her bodice decorated with gold, interlacing patterns. Her face was veiled with a fine muslin, neatly arranged, net.

* * *

><p>The trumpets sounded the moment Mary and her retinue appeared around the corner and entered the gallery. The people jumped aside immediately, forming a path to the door of the chapel. She glanced over her shoulder to where Susan Clarencieux, Lady Mary Lascelles, and Lady Katherine (who – late as always - only just made it in time), had taken up her vast train. She gave them the nod. It was time.<p>

As she looked down the gallery, she could see her father waiting for her. She beamed brightly, in defiance of the nerves that shivered down her spine, with tears in her eyes. When she reached Henry, they linked their arms together, and stood side by side framed by the chapel door as the music filled the air.

There was a collective sigh from the congregation as Henry led the bride down the aisle. Mary was grateful for the veil, because her eyes were filling with tears already. Then, she saw Edmund waiting before the altar. When he turned to look at her, he didn't seem to recognise her at first. Then, he smiled brightly in recognition.

He stepped aside so that Henry and Mary could take up their place. The archbishop of Canterbury moved into place just as the music ceased, and he prepared to address his flock.

"We are gathered here today to witness the joining together of this man, and this woman," he said, gesturing to them both, before continuing with the marital preamble.

Mary's nerves intensified, and left her breathless as she and Edmund prepared to take their vows. She had spent her childhood dreaming of this moment, and the reality of it had yet to hit her. Her right hand trembled visibly as Henry placed it into Edmund's left. His hand lingered on Mary's for just a fraction of a second as Henry gave her away, this time for real.

As Mary and Edmund clasped hands, they repeated their vows after the prompts from the archbishop.

"I, Edmund, do take thee, Mary, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, to honour and to cherish, forsaking all others, for so long as we both shall live."

Mary's voice shook with emotion as she replied:

"I, Mary, do take thee, Edmund, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, to honour and obey, forsaking all others, so long as we both shall live."

Henry sniffed away the tears that were threatening, and stepped back towards his daughter. He took her hand out of Edmund's, and replaced it with her left hand in her new husband's right. Then, his job was done. He had given her away, and he went to stand to one side.

Edmund hastily wiped a tear from his eye as he produced the ring from his pocket. He slid it over Mary's finger, and followed the archbishop's cue.

"With this ring I do thee wed," he said. "This gold and silver I give thee, with my body I do worship, and with my worldly goods I do thee endow. In the name of the father, the son, and of the holy ghost."

A tear rolled down Mary's cheek as she repeated the gesture with the plain gold ring she had. As soon as she finished her final vow, the archbishop declared them man and wife. It was done. Edmund lifted her veil, and leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Mary had no words for what she was feeling at that moment. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply. All she knew for sure was that it was the happiest moment of her life.


	26. The Power And The Passion

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, all your comments have been most welcome. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Please read and review, thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter 26: The Power And The Passion (Epilogue).<strong>

The carriage bearing the new Duke and Duchess of Somerset drew level with the entrance to their new home. Somewhere, deep in the mists of time, this ducal seat had been held by the new Duchess's great-great-grandfather, or thereabouts. His name was John Beaufort; he had a daughter called Margaret, who's son became England's unlikeliest King. The unlikeliest King had a son; the son who is now the strongest King, and who has a daughter. A daughter called Mary.

Mary smiled brightly at her husband, Edmund. In her belly was the first in line of a new generation of these great people. The growing babe embodied them all. It was, all at once, unlikely, strong (if the kicks were anything to go by), and a blessing from God that healed the wounds in the lives of both of its parents.

Edmund looked turned from their palatial new home, and back at his wife. His gaze came to rest on her swollen belly. The first year of their marriage had been a fruitful one.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice full concern that was only for her.

"So long as I have you," she replied.

She looked back at Bletsoe Castle, and thought of her grandmother's grandmother. They were all born within those walls, and it was only right that her daughter, and her instincts told her that that is what it was, should be born there, too. A daughter, she thought to herself again, and turned to kiss Edmund's cheek.

"You're not disappointed, are you?" she asked him, referring to their child's gender.

"I will be if you catch a chill out here," he quipped in return.

As though a command had been bellowed out; there were suddenly surrounded by a swarm of footmen, servants, maids, and grooms. A whole new household to attend their every whim, desire, and need. It would take time to get to know them all, but Mary and Edmund felt at home already. As he led her inside, he grinned broadly.

"You forget," he said. "I have seen you English girls in action. What better son could a man hope for?"

Mary leaned against him, laughing. Laughter that died away as they came to a halt in the great hall of their home. The ceiling was high, and beamed. The walls newly panelled with varnished oak, and the stone floor had been reset. Her father, King Henry, had ordered a complete refurbishment as a gift for them. It was breathtaking. Mary, however, didn't have long to enjoy it. Her confinement was due to begin that evening.

The thought of their imminent separation weighted heavily on Edmund's mind. Since their marriage, they had not spent so much as a day away from each other's side. But, as he looked at his home, and his wife, it was only then that the reality of fatherhood hit him. Any day now, and he would be cradling a tiny baby in his arms, and that baby would be his own flesh and blood.

Edmund and Mary looked into each other's eyes. After everything they had been through, and everything that had happened to them, they were lucky just to have each other. Their baby, no matter what the gender, was an added divine bonus.

"Are you ready?" he asked nervously.

"No," she laughed.

She had yearned for a child of her own. She had done so for many a year, and she had prepared herself for the fact that it would never happen. The yearning and brooding had been so all consuming, that she had neglected to wonder what parenting would actually be like. Now that her dreams were real; they suddenly seemed incredibly daunting. But with Edmund at her side, she knew that they would make it together. Just like they made it together when fighting against rebels and traitors. They said nothing about that; they didn't need to.

"Come on," said Edmund as he grabbed her wrist and started to run through the galleries of Palace. "Let's explore!"

* * *

><p>The Court returned to Greenwich. The King's health was failing now, and Anne thought the clean country air would do him good. Arthur was back at Ludlow, William and Elizabeth were with their Tutors, and the country was back in the safe hands of the Privy Council. That left them free to spend their days together.<p>

Often, they walked the gardens. Their pace steady and slow to allow for the King. But Anne did not mind. When she looked at him, she still saw the amorous lover who pursued her across the country for just one backwards glance of her coal black eyes. All that power, and all that passion was still theirs for the taking, even if no one else saw it.

"Are you all right, my darling?" asked Anne as Henry had begun to nod off at the bench they were sitting on.

Henry jolted awake. "Fine, fine!" he repeated. The celebrations for the birth of their granddaughter, little Catherine, had left him exhausted.

Anne smiled as she gazed into his eyes. Those glittering sapphire eyes that even age and infirmity could not dull. Henry looked at her, and thought the exact same thing. Her allure, her excitement, was still there. They leaned in and kissed one another. Sometimes, they did not speak much. But their silences were the companionable sort, now. But as Anne rested her head on Henry's shoulder, he suddenly spoke.

"Perhaps my best years are gone," he said. "But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire that burns in me now."

All around them, another year drew to a close. The trees were a riot of colours; of bronze and gold, and burning hues of the death of the season. But the skies were still wide, open and blue. The world was big, and beautiful again. Anne looked up at it all in wonder, and listened to her dying husband's words. She closed her eyes, and relished the breeze that buffeted her face.

"Amen," she concluded.

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><p><strong>~The End.~ <strong>

Thank you, once again, to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. You're input is greatly appreciated, and it made writing this story a joy. Thank you!


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